


Fare thee well, little broken heart

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: The Human Trap [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Boys Kissing, Brotherhood, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring, Chibs is bad at feelings, Comforting Chibby, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Past, Death Wish, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Drunken phone calls, Drunkenness, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotionally Repressed, Forbidden Love, Gaelic Language, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Heartbreak, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Just Add Kittens, Loneliness, Love Secret, Love/Hate, M/M, Men Crying, Naked Cuddling, Nightmares, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Persecution, Personal Growth, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Regret, Remorse, Reviving Juice, Rough Kissing, Save Juicy boy and his scarred Scotsman, Sexual Content, Showers, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Slowest burn I've ever written, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats, True Love, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Venus knows everything and people should know that, emotional breakdown, losing hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 112
Words: 99,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: At first: SPOILER ALERT if you've not finished the whole seven seasons of SoA!It wasn't even my intention of slipping into another fandom but I just finished Sons Of Anarchy today and I'm in such a desperat need of another ending for Juice and Chibs so I had to try and save them using fanfic magic.Starts off after last episode, only difference being Juice surviving that stab, mainly because I decide to make it a little less fatal, and in the same time used a lot of far too scared witnesses and unreliable proofs to let Juice off prison. I don't even care if it starts without makin any sense, because I'm heartbroken and if you're okay with some major alternative ending, you can make me company.I just had to save Juice and his scarred Scot, to heal my poor heart. Title is from Nightwish's "Forever Yours".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I had to check how old Chibs is supposed to be, because I just took Flanagan's age and used that, so to say. Apparantly, Chibs is only 36 in season 2, meaning he's probably around 41 in season 7 and since my story takes place about 3 years later, that lands on 44. Juice would be around 36, so that makes their age difference a lot smaller than I first thought.
> 
> So, just to be clear: Chibs 44, Juice 36. I'm not sure if I have the patience to go through this whole story and edit that right now. Hope that's okay.

His lawyar probably hates him as much as the prosecutor. It’s visible, the rushed annoyance from the first meetings have turned to a very visible and perfectly understandable disgust by now. The short, fat man with egg shaped glasses looks like he’s going to a root filling every time they sit in this claustrophobic little room and frankly, Juice is the last person to blame him. No one’s supposed to survive that amount of stabbing. Juice has seen far stronger men than himself going down from far less and he’s but a miserable little rat, barely human. No wonder the fat man wonders why the hell he’s even here.  
  
”Mr. Ortiz, I have to remind you that…”  
  
Juice barely hears him. Nothing really seems to reach into him since he woke up on the hospital ward, cuffed to a bed and unable to speak, swallow or do anything but watching and hearing. Why’s he here again, in this stupid little room with a lawyar talking about lacking proofs, redrawned testifies and names of people belonging to another life. His second and only, Juice isn’t really sure how that contradiction makes sense to him, but it does. And he, as the nutcase Chucky would’ve put it, accepts that.  
  
”Mr. Ortiz? Juan!”  
”Uhm… What?”  
”Am I wasting my time here, Juan?”  
  
Yes. Yes, he is. But broken and empty or not, there’s still some kind of reflex in Juice, willing to listen to the annoyed man in front of him. Erasing that impulse is not as easy as ripping a patch off and Juice fakes another smile – by God when did the last genuine smile come across his lips? – and blinks to try and seem present.  
  
”Juice.”  
”Excuse, me?”  
”You can call me Juice.”  
”Alright, Juice… Not that you seem to care, but if you’re by any chance are listening to me, I’m here to tell you you’re free to go.”  
”What?”  
”Apparantly, the police in Charming along with the judge has no reliable witnesses.”  
”What?”  
  
He sounds dumb, as always. Juice always sounds like that and he scratches the scar on his throat. It still itches and swallowing is bitch. His lawyar and the prosecutor look at each other, clearly thinking they’re dealing with a moron and why not. Apparantly, he’s not even smart enough to die when someone helps him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Juice is no longer on an unofficial death roll, at least not within these walls. Outside is another matter and there’s only one person Juice could think of reaching out to. Not because he has any hope of forgiveness, but another chance to die without being a coward. Juice is pretty sure that’s far more than he’s deserved.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s never upgraded his home. For a Glasgow street urgin, surviving for this long is somewhat a surprise in itself and Chibs guesses he never really could be bothered. The club’s always been his home far more than the lonely flat and the for the two years he’s been the club’s VP, he’s never had a doubt about his priorities. Cleaning up after the Teller mess, has given him many a sleepless night and wasn’t it for the support of his brothers, the Sons could’ve slipped back onto a very destructive path – or simply become food for the crows. Figuratively spoken.  
  
Chibs parks his bike outside the club and lits a fag. Teller-Morrow is legit now. For real. The Sons are on the right path again and not been doing any illegal shit for at least eighteen months. Took some time to set it all straight and to be honest, Chibs welcomed the burden. It’s so much easier not to think, when you don’t have the time for it.  
  
”Hi, darling!”  
  
Chibs looks up from his bike and takes his sunglasses off. Venus, in her huge shoes – who the fuck sells lady shoes in that size? – and a silky blouse, waves at him. Chibs smiles.  
  
”Good morning, love. Where ye have the lazy basterd?”  
”Oh, Tiggy’s just getting some breakfast. I’m here with my car, darling. Needed some help with the brakes, at least that’s what he said, you know.”  
  
Venus strokes her hair to the side, nails perfectly shaped and painted and Chibs realises he can’t picture her/him/whatever even opening an engine hood. For some fucked up reason, she/he/whatever seems to have found a safe haven with Tig out of all people. Or maybe it’s the other way around. She takes up a fag and Chibs, the gentleman he is, offers her fire. Venus Van Damme blows out a uite majestic cloud and sighs.  
  
”Any news?”  
”About what?”  
  
Chibs is not a morning person and he sounds cranky, but Venus just looks at him, surprised and a smug little smile curves her lips ans she sucks almost obscenly on the fag.  
  
”Well… from what I’ve heard, from a very reliable source I might add, a common acquaintance was released from his little cage recently.”  
”And who might tha’ little bird be?”  
”Juan Ortiz, darling. Juice.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charming is out of the question. Stockton doesn’t feel much more appealing either but what would? Juice has no one and nothing waiting for him out here and as much as the advices from his lawyar being to get away from his old turf, Juice isn’t interested in making a fresh start. He’s simply not someone who can do that. There’s only so much shit you can wipe off without leaving any traces. The smell is still there.  
  
The room he’s renting while doing his parol program, working with grocery deliveries and having weekly meetings with his parol officer and some kind of shrink Juice has no intention of saying anything more than necessairy to. Minimum wage, of course, and since dead men don’t need bikes, Juice doesn’t even think twice about looking for his old one, or any other personal items that might or might not have gone missing. Why would he care? He’s dead, right?  
  
He sets the alarm on his phone, not to miss the appointment the next morning and then heads to buy some food before checking in on his depressing room. The landlady isn’t exactly welcoming but Juice doesn’t blame her. The state pays her to allow thugs like Juice to try and rent a room and act like normal people, hopefully not draining the system of any more money and start working. It’s a joke, really, and if Juice didn’t allow himself to feel just the slightest hint of relief for not having to spend another night being raped by a cell mate, he’d probably not even bothered coming here, but just crashed in a ditch somewhere.  
  
Before he went to prison, Juice remembers feeling haunted, watched everywhere. A constant stress, the feeling of being pulled in different directions and for different purposes of some he was either too stupid or too blind to put into pieces. The amount of shit he did for the club, for Clay, Gemma, Jax, Chibs… Juice’s throat tightens a little as his thoughts unvoluntarily reaches the last name and he puts a hand on his neck, trying to remind himself there’s no threat there. At least not now.  
  
While in prison he managed what he’d never been able to during all the shit in the club: to shut off. Apparantly, killing a man who doesn’t give a shit is no sport, not when you can use him as your limp little whore instead. Tully was a pig and as long as Juice stayed pliable the shithead seemed to want his pet alive. A very small part of Juice even was sad when the nazi scumbag got strangled in the laundry. Familarity has it’s advantage and had Juice’s new roommate not been a small and whiny little moron who cried more than talked and never was as happy as when Juice would keep his own mouth shut, things could’ve been far worse. Despite that, Juicy sometimes found himself missing the nazi rapist, because at least he could talk.  
  
The bed in the room is far more comfortable than the prison bunk and Juice throws a longing look at it before he takes up the tovel and soap and walks into the small bathroom. He always prefered the water really hot, being sure to have all the oil, greese and dirt coming off and he drops his clothes on the floor, stepping under the shower and lets it burn his skin until it hurts.  
  
He closes his eyes hard, trying to evaporate the images, the smells and feelings from prison, but the only thing his mind seems able to replace them with, is Chibs.


	4. Chapter 4

He wouldn’t dare. The risks are too high and God knows Juice aint the sharpest tool in the box, but he’s by no means not a complete idiot. Chibs knows neither Venus or even Tig has any idea how utterly gutwrenching these news are. He’s turned really good at hiding emotions like these over the years, a necessairy tool if you’re to become a good leader. The Son’s may not have thrived economically as when they were doing guns and drugs, but TM is a steady business and the club’s reputation has improved a lot since the Teller’s went away. That notion is a bit sad, but nontheless true.  
  
Had it not been Venus bringing the news or anyone from the club, Chibs thinks he might have been able to brush it off. Hell, Juice is hardly the only half black half Puerto Rican guy with shaved head, tattoos and constantly fucking sad brown eyes. Chibs often thought of the lad as a lost puppy. Clumsy, searching for someone to follow, but with sharp teeth, strenght and loyalty. Sometimes too much of it. Chibs sighs and stares into his half-empty bottle. The thought of having Juice thirty miles away with no walls or prison guards between them is equally relieving and nerve-wreckening. Chibs doesn’t want to see him ever again. Hell, he can’t see him, he’s a traitor, a rat, a… human?  
  
Chibs heard the story from Jax. It didn’t excuse but sure as hell explained a thing or two about Juicy’s behavior. There’s even been times after that, when Chibs could fall down into sessions of what if:s, what about:s and could I’ve:s, but just as with other shite he couldn’t do anything about, he tucked it all back in parts of his memory Chibs knew he wouldn’t accidently stumble upon them. And unless the kid has a death wish, he wouldn’t dare to stick his nose anywhere near the Sons. Would he?   
  
The old Scot isn’t sure whom he’s trying to fool. He’s alone in what used to be Gemma’s office and the garage is a far more quiet place these days, somehow reminding of the time when Chibs first entered this club and he still knew too little about both the Tellers and Clay Moore to have any clue what kind of shit storm it would turn into. There’s no one here to try and read secrets or search for old wounds on his appearence and maybe, Chibs thinks, that’s the biggest change here. They have new guys here now, who’ve never been part of Samcro’s bloody history and don’t know why a half black, half Puerto Rican guy with stupid tattoos and perpetually worried eyes is able to make their boss feel like someone’s carving his old, hardened, whiskey pickled heart out with a blunt blade.  
  
He puts the fag out, barely aware another drag on it would’ve turned it all to ashes between his fingers. Stockton isn’t Charming and if the kid by some miracle left prison alive despite Jax’s order two years ago, he might actually have done something to deserve that. Chibs rarely falls into the Catholic stuff from childhood, but he knows better than most people how to live with guilt. He guesses the rat knows that too and if he’s stupid enough to try his way into any other club, Chibs will eventually find out. And not even Tig will kill anyone these days connected to their bloody history, without talking to Chibs first. Without the Teller-Moore clans inner shit, the only death cases the last years, was a prospect who couldn’t hold his liqor and eventually not his bike either. Most stupid drunk and drive Chib’s ever seen and he’s seen a lot of that shit. He’s a goddamn Scot, for fucks sake. He’s got more liqor than blood in his system by now.   
  
A loud sound from the garage pulls him out of his thoughts. Chucky, that seemingly undeadly muppet has tried to bring more shit on those Mickey Mouse hands than he can actually carry, bumping into a shelf with tools and spilling soap water all over, as Rat scolds at him but without any real heat to it. Chibs scowls to himself and sighs before opening the door to the garage.  
  
Another day of lawful babysitting should make those thirty miles feel a wee bit further away.


	5. Chapter 5

”We have a very good reputation, Mr. Ortiz, and I tend to have it stay that way.”  
  
Yeah, because packing and delivering groceries might be too difficult for an idiot with club tattoos on parol. Juice is almost about to ask if the manager is afraid he’ll get lost or eat the fucking organic tomatos or whatever shit people order on the road, but he’s never really been sassy and what little sass he might have had is long since gone. He looks Mr. Gerrison in the eyes and forces a very small smile, nodding.  
  
”Of course, sir. I understand.”  
”Good. Then we just have some papers to sign.”  
  
Frankly, Juice thought he was done signing papers, since he’s been through a pile of that before his determined lawyar, probably because of some need to proove himself he could save a cell for some more crazy ass scumbag than Juice and make the tax payers a little happier. Juice is really no threat to anyone but himself at this point and it’s cheaper and looks better for the prison if he doesn’t end up dead on their watch. Less paper work, so to say. From what Juice have heard, the quite recently installed warden is _very_ maticulous about investigating murders inside and the whispers among the prisoners have been that except from the life-term interns, the state simply can’t afford doing quite as well as the new warden wants it, hence letting the cases with a waiting murder threat on the other side, is a little easier to handle.  
  
Hands the local cops more resources and gives up space for those who make it to the front pages. The citizens feel safer and the politicans can shine, talking about how the lawabiding citizens and their innocent children can sleep safe at night while keeping the prison filled to the brim and show a little heartful social responsibility by trying to rehabilitate those who may or may not live long enough to actually feel any difference outside. Juice has no illusions what so ever that he’ll feel anything and should he do that, it’ll only be those kind of feelings that will push him over the edge he never dared to try again after Chibs found him trying to hang himself.  
  
”Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow at eight, Mr. Ortiz.”  
”Uhm… yes, thank you.”  
  
Shit. He’s already looking more like a moron than he intended to. Mr. Gerrison pretends he doesn’t notice and smiles way too hearty. He probably regrets this and Juice raises from the old plastic chair and takes the reached hand.  
  
”Thank you… for having me, sir.”  
”We’ll give it a try.”  
  
Juice leaves with the same feeling he’s had on every place he’s ever been to except when Samcro took him him: that no one actually wants him to try, unless it’s very far away from other people and with a good chance of him not getting out of that try alive. Juice is fully on with that idea.


	6. Chapter 6

”You look a bit lonely.”  
”Well, sweetheart, I’m a wee bit old for ye, I’m sure.”  
”Come on, you don’t look a day over seventy.”  
  
Chibs just stares at the lass for a moment and then he laughs. She’s a cute little thing, blue eyes and curly hair but way too young and pretty for an old biker with grey hairs and too many scars. Chibs lifts his small glass of scotch. Rather than having a drink with the guys, he chose one of the less popular bars to have some peace a quiet after work.  
  
”Not one to tell a beutiful woman off, lovey, but ye really should take another look around and see if ye can’t find someone more fun.”  
  
She laughs, one of her teeths is a little winded and she shakes her head.  
  
”What’s your name, _old man_.”  
”Chibs. Ye?”  
”Lily.”  
”Well, pleasure to meet ye, Lily. ’Fraid I’m not much of a company right now.”  
”Love troubles?”  
  
Chibs smiles and Lily sits down by his table. His crow eater days are over and honestly, Chibs isn’t even sure if he misses them. Love troubles? He’s not had those since… Well, the cop was a mistake and…  
  
”Come on, old man. What’s her name?”  
  
Chibs laughs and lits the lily’s fag along with a new one for himself.  
  
”Juice. And she’s a he.”  
”He left you?”  
”Aye… something like that.”  
  
It’s sometimes hard for Chibs remembering this particular difference between the MC and society. Not that there aren’t a lot of fucking redneck homophobes out there, but this lass who must be at least ten years younger than Juice most likely is more progressive, hence the lack of scorn or raised eyebrows. The lily takes his hand.  
  
”Tried talking to him?”  
”Doubt we have anything to say to each other, love.”  
”You don’t know that until you’ve tried, right? You men… you talk too little about serious shit and we talk too much. No fucking balance anywhere.”  
  
For just the slightest second, she reminds him of Fiona and Chibs just nods.  
  
”Aye, I guess ye’re having a point there… Lily.”  
”So what are you doing here, talking to someone who’s too young for you, instead of him?”  
”Well… I doubt he’ll want to see me. Or I him. Could get ugly, sweetheart.”  
”He gave you those scars?”  
  
Chibs rarely thinks of them. The scars have been such a natural part of his life he sometimes forgets there are still parts of the world where his Glasgow smile can raise questions. He shakes his head.  
  
”No, lass. Earned these myself. No, I… he betrayed me.”  
”Oh. I’m sorry. Kind of an asshole, if you ask me.”  
  
It takes a moment before Chibs realises she’s thinking of cheating and he bites his lip. He’s too old, fat and tired for this.  
  
”I… I betrayed him too, I guess. It’s…”  
”Complicated?”  
”Aye, guess ye could put it that way. He was my best friend and I don’t think he ever knew that…”  
”Well, if you’re a as old as you claim to be, why wasting any time?”  
  
She makes a cheeky grin and if this was five years ago, Chibs would’ve buried his face between her legs by now, not talking about Juice like he matters. Like whatever they had still matters…


	7. Chapter 7

No witnesses to the things tying him to murders and shit makes this penance feel like a joke. On parol for gang violence and theft when you’ve fucking butchered people and pissed off both the law, old enemies and betrayed your friends… Juice would almost laugh at it, if the sound of his own laughter didn’t creep him out so much. The days feel just as still and unmoving as inside, or worse. Tully hurt him, badly, but Juice never ratted on him and he was almost sweet to him afterwards, when Juice came back from the hospital ward, reading that fucking poetry to him, petting his chest… Juice’s hands are shaking as he closes the door to his lonely room after a long day with organic vegetables, mopping and suspicious looks. The only thing actually hurting, is not hearing his name anymore. He’s no longer Juice or Juicy to anyone.  
  
After work and reporting himself to his supervisor, there really isn’t much left to do unless he has a shrink appointment. Without any bike, anything to do or anyone waiting for him, the only thing Juice finds himself able to do, is going all batshit crazy over cleaning. One day, the land lady comes by, pointing out he’s been washing his window twice a day for a week now and instead of being suspected of being up to some bullshit, the woman takes a look inside the spotless room and neat piles of canned food in the pantry, with a highly surprised expression on her face.  
  
Some questions about his cooking skills – they’re non existant – and suddenly, Juice finds himself having a second job, paid for in homecooked meals and a little cash under the table. For Juice, the only thing that really matters, is killing off the time as painless as possible. Keeping himself busy as hell seems like one of very few good ideas he’s had. Although being left alone with his thoughts might be a more suitable punishment, since he actually shouldn’t be alive and breathing, especially not outside walls. Maybe he deserves sitting alone and getting tortured by his own mind, now that Tully or anyone no longer does that for him.  
  
It doesn’t feel better, only less worse. Yes, there’s a difference, Juice thinks as he gets up at six for his parol job and shoves a bland breadroll and some instant coffee down his throat before heading over to the grocery shop. He never speaks until he’s spoken to and stays with nods as often as possible without appearing rude. He has his lunch alone, a quick sandwich and a coke, on the backside of the shop and when the long day is finally over and he’s reported himself to the supervisor, he heads back to the landlady, getting a list of rooms to clean for the day.  
  
When he’s done and she’s inspected the work – she never has any complaints – he gets a warm foil package to take to his room. Juice hadn’t expected anything more than leftovers, but the landlady surprises him with generous portions of really nice food: spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce, chicken soup with home made bread, lasagna and even steak with mash. There’s even napkins.  
  
This is the one thing that makes the days barable, why he’s not just allowing himself to be the coward he knows he is and give it all up. The foil packages and thin white napkin neatly folded on top of it. The woman rarely speaks to him and doesn’t compliment his work, but the way the food tastes says she’s more than pleased. Juice may not be a complete wreckage. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have this nice food if he made a sloppy job or annoyed her.  
  
When he’s done eating, he’s knackered and takes a shower and the meds that make him sleep almost through the night in the lonely bed. He dreams a lot, but can’t seem to remember what. Only when he wakes up hard and aching, but with his face all wet, he knows he dreamt of Chibs. When that happens, there’s no more sleep that night, just Juice and his fucked up mind and the memories no pills or parols can wipe out. It’s the only time the mornings bring any kind of relief.


	8. Chapter 8

Tig tells him what he already knows.  
  
”What do you wanna do about it, brother?”  
”Nothing.”  
”Why? He survived!”  
”Exactly.”  
  
Chibs bites his lip, stroking away the greyish hair that, was there any justice in the world, would’ve started to thin out by now. He sighs. There’s no justice in the world.  
  
”The lad paid the prize. Jack told me before he… The kid didn’t try to worm himself out of it, brother. All the shite he did… But ye know, he took what was coming to’im, didn’t waver.”  
”Yeah, I heard from Venus’ friend overthere…”  
”Friend?”  
”Former customer, don’t be an ass, brother.”  
  
He knows his friend well enough to know Venus isn’t someone to make any fucking jokes about around him – and definately not Tig’s relationship with her. Tig’s reputation speaks for itself and that’s why he’s now more or less free to walk down mainstreet with his some-kind-of woman.    
  
Chibs rubs a callous hand over his face.  
  
”Shite… I can’t have the lad killed, Tig.”  
”Why not?”  
”He’s no threat to anyone anymore. The club as he knew it is gone, Jax is gone and there’s nothing he could do tha’would hurt us. And he _didn’t waver_.”  
  
Tig raises his eyebrows just a little, then he nods, suddenly unreadable.  
  
”Okay, brother. I wont hurt him.”  
”Or have anyone else hurt’im.”  
”You’re the boss.”  
  
When Tig leaves, Chibs buries his face in his palms. They reek from motor oil and lead, smoke and cheap soap and all he can think about is Juice and his freakish obsession with cleaning, the spotless but so fucking lonely little apartment he had, neat like an old lady’s and how Chibs used to tease him about it, threatening to walk in with muddy boots only to get a cheeky ”only if you want to have that greesy hair washed in my cleaning bucket, you filthy pig”, back. He’s lost so many brothers over the years and the one he can’t seem to let go off, is the one he was once ready to kill. As cliché as it sounds, the line between love and hate is rarely clear. Fiona is a very solid proof of that. Sometimes Chibs misses her. Not living with her, because the two of them sharing a life together again is a piece of perfect disaster only a drunken Scot and an IRA member could create.   
  
Most women Chibs have had in his life, in one way or another, have been hard lasses, no less dangerous than the men. Those who can handle it are the ones who knows how to be soft enough for the men to let them close and hard enough to not getting drowned when the inevitable shit storms are coming. This kind of life isn’t for soft hearts and that’s why Chibs can’t help but regretting taking Juice under his wing, sponsoring the lad in the first place. Not because the idiot almost ruined the club, but because this life ruined him.


	9. Chapter 9

Apart from his sister, there’s only one person Juice can recall himself ever having loved. Like, for real. Sure, he loved his brothers, he loved Clay, Gemma and Jax, but not like Chibs. The harsh but kind Scotsman has been by his side since he was an awkward prospect with fidgeting hands, so shy around the crow eaters he got teased for months before Chibs had it dragged out of him and found out about his sister, who as far as Juice still knew was walking on the block if she hadn’t ended up in a dumpster yet.   
  
Chibs hadn’t said much, just patted his shoulder and hugged him, kissed his cheek and told that he would handle it. The next day, the other guys stopped going on about Juice’s lacking interest in whores. Apparantly, dead sisters wasn’t a pussy’s way out. From that moment, Juice could answer with ”I love you too, brother” to the man and actually mean it.  
  
Well, those days are gone and it doesn’t matter what Juice might feel for any of his former brothers anymore. He’s dead to them and for good reasons. Jax has probably told them all about what he did, that he helped Gemma covering for Tara’s death and if any of them sees him now, Juice wont defend himself one bit, but welcome it. And a shot to the head would be a mercy he’s not deserved, maybe that’s why Juice finds himself dreming of it. The way out that at least wouldn’t give him the suicidal patch along with the marks of a traitor and coward.  
  
Casual chitchat was never his strong suit and Juice knows it shows. Being diligent, hard-working and polite is all good, but he knows he’s a terrible smiler and hates when normal, decent people look him in the eyes. He knows it’s impossible, that there is no thing as mind-reading and in his case definately no soul to stare back from his glassy, brown eyes, but it still makes him feel highly uncomfortable whenever someone seeks eye contact too long. It’s not as if he can tell them he sees dead people looking back at  through their eyes, accusing and resentful.  
  
The only reason he didn’t end up dead in prison, was because of a fucking nazi’s unbelievably poor stabbing skills and taste for half-brown ass. A young, pliable and dead silent piece of fuckable meat aint something sex starved shitheads behind walls throw away lightly. It didn’t matter to Juice as long as there was no torture and Tully was kind enough not to touch the scars. For a rat surviving his own execution Juice never expected to have any choises left. And he’s never seen that accidental survival as anything but a failure from Tully’s side. Fucking amateur.  
  
At least, when Chibs or Tigs come for him, Juice can rest assure they know their shit. He has no chance leaving this town alive and he has no intention to either.  



	10. Chapter 10

The lad has changed. From a distance, it’s still that kid with stupip tattoos, just a bit thinner and with dead eyes. Chibs watches him, hidden under an ugly cap from his car. He rarely uses the old rusty thing, but considering what he’s doing, showing up on his Harley would ruin it. Tigs lady told the truth and Chibs ignores the way his throat and jaw tighten, the way his fingers squeeze hard around the wheel and the sudden sense of sickness rumbling through his belly.  
  
He should leave the car and just head up to him, force the fucking rat to look him in the eyes before coming with him to the club and… Christ! Chibs sighs. What the hell is happening to him? Is he loosing his fucking judgement just because that sad piece of shit turned up alive? After all these years, Chibs fucking Telford suddenly can’t handle a little backlash? A stupid fucking rat who betrayed his oath, his family and every goddamn thing he had to live for? Who’s now not only survived prison but is delivering _groceries_ on a fucking moped like some kind of teenager working extra?   
  
He grits his teeth, but doesn’t move and when Juice disappears on the moped with a bunch of bags on it, Chibs lights a smoke with hands that are just a little too shaky to be explained by age, booze or old wounds. At least physical ones.  
  
The rest of the day, Chibs spends trying to work Juice out of his mind. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty to help him with that. Being legit is safer and a lot nicer to his aging body, but Chibs still misses his old life every day. Not all of it, he could do well without the deaths and injures and constant powerplay you never knew if it was about the Teller-Moore family or the Teller-Moore business. It’s become a far more boring place without Gemma, but truth be told, it’s a lot easier too. Chibs hadn’t realised just how tight her grasp around the family and the business was until it all started to crack down. He loved her and misses seeing her driving up outside, looking like she owned the fucking world, joking with Unser or Abel.  
  
What he doesn’t miss is how she manipulated everyone around her, especially those closest.  
  
_If you’re a as old as you claim to be, why wasting any time?_  
  
Shite. There are no rules about not missing a former brother, no matter what the betrayal. It’s a normal part of grieving and not something one can make a clause about. And there are a lot of ways one can take to break someone’s heart.  



	11. Chapter 11

He doesn’t have to look to know he’s being watched. Or who’s watching him. That’s not the weird thing, but the fact that he doesn’t seem to care. Walking around here is clearly a waste of air if not the feeling of a former brother’s look piercing through his back has him flinch, or even turn around. But why would he? Juice is dead to the only world that mattered to him and Chibs is looking at a walking dead. A rat risen from the dead is one rat too much.   
  
As he piles the delivery on the pathetic little moped, Juice tries to think of death. Before the death of Tara, it was a thought filling him with a little bit of discomfort. After Tara, before he was finally outed as the rat he was, it made him feel afraid and when he came to prison, he simply felt ready and that’s the feeling he was robbed off when he, for some goddamn reason, made it out alive. Now he feels cheated, robbed of the opportunity to go out knowing it wasn’t suicide. Everytime he’s thought about that direction, he’s seen Chib’s furious, heartbroken face while cutting him down from that fucking tree and the betrayal he’d committed to his brother, to all of them. Juice awaits death with anticipation, but unless it’s necessairy to do it himself, he prefers for someone else to have the chance of taking him out.  
  
A part of would like to look back. Or just have a look at the man. Not to let him know he’s been seen, but to get a glimpse of him again. Preferably one when Chibs isn’t looking at him, but at a pretty girl or something else that would break something more than a Glasgow smile from his lips. Juice hasn’t deserved another of those for himself, but stealing one that’s meant for someone else is the best he’ll ever get. Juice has never been greedy. Moments later, he knows the gaze is gone and so is the man. If he tried to look into it, he’d probably feel shitty enough to actually throw up. One more good reason not to. Juice simply looks at the address on the delivery card and starts the moped. He’s not Jax. If he’s going out while riding, it’s probably suitable on a moped instead of an Harley.   
  
Later that day, he sees his supervisor, feeling just slightly better since Mr. Gerrison told him a short and impersonal ”good work, boy” before his shift was over and he got his weekly paycheck. Along with the landlady, Miss Holland, that’s two people having said anything that nice about him in forever. The supervisor is less friendly but the reports from work are good and there are no complaints from the landlady, neighbours, customers or anyone else. Drug tests are negative as well. What a good and cooperative walking corpse he is, seemingly on the right path for the first time in fucking forever and no one sees he’s really just taking a very slow walk to death. On the other hand, isn’t everyone doing that?  
  
He doesn’t have any restrictions apart from work, drug tests and the meetings with the supervisor. On the paper, Juice could go to a bar or get himself a hooker, go to the movies or just take a fucking walk. There are no walls, no curfew and as long as he shows up on time tomorrow at work, no one will come looking for him. Perhaps he’s supposed to feel more free out here, being able to just stroll around, eat what he wants and wear his own clothes, watch wathever shitty tv program there is and have a beer or five, but Juice feel anything but free. It’s just an ocean of time ahead of him, with no one waiting for him, at least not the living version.   
  
And since he’s already dead in the eyes of the only people that ever mattered to him, he expects no one will care that much of a corpse either by this point. That’s why, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, there’s a sting of genuin surprise when he sees the figure leaning outside his door, smoking one of his endless cigarettes, eyes incredulous and weary. Juice swallows, the dead weight in his stomach suddenly feeling twice as heavy and he takes up his keys, nodding at the man.  
  
”Chibs.”  
”Traitor.”


	12. Chapter 12

He can’t help it, the venom in his voice and Chibs realises he actually didn’t mean to sound like that. So spiteful. It feels like kicking someone in the guts who’s already given up and is also way too weak for any remotely decent man to strike down again. Like a kid or a wounded animal, patiently waiting for a final cut, knowing the only thing left is to patiently await death.  
  
Juicy is a shadow of the shy, awkward kid he first took under his wing. He’s thin and slow, eyes so tired they look like they could drop any second and he pulls his hoodie from his head, putting the key in the door.  
  
”Please, don’t do it here. The landlady is really nice and I don’t want her having to deal with a corpse.”  
  
The voice is… simply empty. Chibs is man prepared for a lot of things, but nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the complete lack of life in Juice’s voice. It’s the saddest fucking acceptance he’s heard, the lack of surprise, explanation… Just the motionless plea to not make a mess for the landlady and Chibs knows the kid had spotted him way earlier than expected.   
  
Juicy turns the key and walks inside the dark room, leaving the door open and turns a weak lamp on. He wipes his shoes off, walks to the small fridge and puts the groceries neatly on one of the shelves. Then he stacks the paper back under the sink, walks to the small bathroom and washes his hands. Chibs is caught off guard. Completely. On the way over, he’d had so much to say to the traitor he’d sworn never to speak to or of again and now, standing just some inches inside this depressing little room with a hob, a narrow bed and a table with one chair too many in this gut-wrenching, spotless loneliness, Chibs is just fucking lost.  
  
”Ye’re no’ dead.”  
  
Jesus fucking Christ. What a way to start… Juice just keeps putting his things in order, making the already neat place even more neatly.   
  
”You’re here to change that.”  
  
It’s not a question, it’s a matter of fact. Plain and simply, as if they were talking about something ordinary, something… friends would say. Chibs just keeps staring at the boy cleaning up some clothes and tying the garbage bag. When he’s done, Juice takes out his wallet and puts it on the table before looking up, finally meeting Chibs eyes again.  
  
”I’m ready, brother. No one will come looking for me until Monday.”  
  
Chibs is just about to cut him off, telling him there was a long time since he had any right to call him brother, but Juice realises that mistake first, shrugging with a regretful smile.  
  
”Sorry, old habits. You have a place?”  
  
Before Chibs can answer, Juice locks the door and puts the key under the doormat.


	13. Chapter 13

Honestly, he has no idea what to expect. For all Juice knows, Chibs could just shoot him on the spot but the man isn’t stupid and Juice simply starts walking, ready to stop or turn, hurry or slow down by the command from the Scot behind him, hard boots making steady sounds in contrast of Juice’s soft, cheap trainers. Another difference between them, as if there could be anymore of them: Juice no longer can or must dress for a ride.  
  
Juice just keeps walking, heading for a hidden spot on instinct. Maybe Chibs thinks he’s leading him into a trap but he’s free to leave, shoot him on spot or even take him with him somewhere hidden. Juice has no intention getting Chibs into trouble for this. He’s walking to his execution with relief, feeling lighter on the foot than in a very long time. When they’ve reached a secluded area with no apartments near, Juice stops. He’d like to turn around, but isn’t sure he should.  
  
”This okay? You didn’t mention any place, so…”  
  
The strike should probably surprise him at least a little, but it doesn’t.  Chib’s iron fist lands high up on the left side of his face, probably breaking the cheek bone and he’s shaking, vibes of pain throbbing through his body, but there’s no shattering of the world, just blood from the mouth and nose and the familiar ringing in his ears, the loss of air as another of Chib’s fists hits his guts, putting him bent on his knees on the ground.  
  
He isn’t even looking, just waiting for it. The gun or why not the blade. There’s a reason the man’s nickname is the Scottish word for knife. Juice is relaxed, the only thing left being the merciful, sweet relief of a single bullet and then it’ll all be over. A fair execution, not a coward’s death. He isn’t begging for his life, not running away, not making any excuses. _Just take me out, brother_ , Juice thinks, not daring to say the words because he’s long since lost the right to speak them, he can only repeat them in silence. Maybe the usually talkative Scot simply doesn’t have anymore words left for a dead man, already wasting some on the way here.   
  
Another hit strikes him to the ground and Juice can almost taste it, almost feel how close it is, how little it takes to push him over that final edge and for just a second he imagines the smell of cigarettes, scotch and musk passing him, familiar and comforting as it reaches him through the midst of pain. Then, just a slight scraping of a poorly trimmed beard brushes his ear before he’s out:  
  
”Ye sad fucking muppet.”  



	14. Chapter 14

If the boy’d wanted pity Chibs wouldn’t have hesitated to pull the trigger, even if he’d not told Tig he wanted him alive. Juice isn’t moving, isn’t speaking or doing anything other than turning into a human ragdoll, letting Chibs move him to his own liking and it’s scary. This complete indifference to his own life and death, except for not disturbing the neighbors or landlady, it’s… just so increadibly sad Chibs has no words for it. He’s seen men, even cowards, accepting death with more calm than expected, but not like this. The man he’d been about to kill not a minute ago, is laying almost knocked out in his lap.  
  
It would be the easiest as well as the most merciful thing to do – the club showed both Clay and Jax the respect of a clean death even after far worse shite than this little arsehole made – but killing a former brother wile unconscios, rat or coward doesn’t matter, goes against everything Chibs feels is the right thing to do. He’ll have to wait until the muppet is awake and that might take a while, so thank God it’s Friday and two days left before someone misses him. Or something.  
  
Chibs is barely aware of how he lifts the skinny kid, carefully, like he didn’t drove out here to have him put down, like the limp flesh in his arms is something he should be gentle with instead of throwing to the crows. The betrayal was of a kind that doesn’t heal, there’s no forgiveness for what Juice did, no explanation good enough to justify any end somewhere else than six feet under. Anyone in this situation but Juice, at least among those Chibs counts as close, would’ve tried to avoid this. There’s a lot of talking of meeting death without fear and going down without whining, but Chibs has seen a lot of far stronger men begging for their lives, hiding and being on the run for a lifetime to avoid taking the consequences of their actions, among them both J.T and Jax.  
  
”Whatave ye done to yerself, lad… Know ye were no brainy, but I never took ye for a fucking loon… Christ, what a mess.”  
  
He’s talking to himself, the sad basterd mercifully unaware of his surroundings and Chibs lifts him in his arms, walking back to the room Juice apparantly rents, praying to whatever God that might listen, that no one will see them. It’s dark enough and the residents few and most likely not interested in the kid renting that particular room, but Chibs is still cautious when he sneaks back with the limp burden and his bag, afraid there will be noises but he’s lucky and even manages to sink down to get the keys Juice left under the doormat.  He puts him down the same way the kid did his bag with groceries earlier, still not sure what to do with him other than waking him up for another good beating and the scolding of his life.  
  
Chibs sighs and shakes his head. He must be daft doing this, but he locks the door, takes his own boots off and carries the piece of shit to the bed, putting it down carefully.  
  
Jesus Christ. Who’s the sad, fucking muppet here, really?  



	15. Chapter 15

He can recall another time when Chibs beat the shit out of him and then put him back together, smiling in good-nature like it was all over and nothing bad between them. It was. The Scot is many things but he doesn’t hold grudges once he considers payment is done and as much as those fists hurt, Juice can’t recall a single time when Chibs has beaten someone unfairly out of rage. It’s just not his nature. The hands, when not curled, had been gentle afterwards. Juice didn’t deserve it back then and definately not now. He’s not expecting a smile or kiss on the temple this time.  
  
Juice isn’t looking, just laying on the bed all silent as Chibs patches him up, using the medical box he always carries with him on his bike or in his car. Probably has one in each. Juice hisses once, expecting a scowl or something from the other man but instead the rough hand turns a little lighter, soft even, and it’s been a very long time since anyone touched Juice like this. Friendly. Comforting.  
  
It’s not the punch that makes him cry. Juice has been in quite a lot of pain for some years now and he’s not stupid enough to think someone like Chibs will feel any sympathy or meet the pathetic tears with anything but irritation, but the older man only sighs and pats Juice’s arm.  
  
”How on Earth did ye survive Stockton, ye fucking whimp?”  
  
Chib’s voice is soft, the tone of the scolding can’t hide traces of the old endearment and oh yes, the Scot is a lot of things, but cruel aint one of them. Juice knows he should stop sobbing, but he can’t. He’s not been crying for such a long time, hasn’t been able to and it makes some of the numbness go away, turns him sore, more vulnerable but he can’t stop. It’s like a force of it’s own now and if Chibs tells him to shut up, Juice can’t even hear it, he’s simply too far gone.  
  
The only thing Juice is aware of now, except from the seemingly unstoppable crying, is that he’s not alone. Chibs isn’t leaving, not even moving away from him but stays with him on the bed, close, the coarse fabric of his jeans serving as Juice’s tissue while that rough hands strokes his shoulder.  
  
”Muppet… Wha’ should I do with ye, Juicyboy?”  
  
There it is. _Juicyboy_. It may mean something or not a shit, but the last time Juice cried in the same bed as another man, he was being raped and the only comfort was to know he’d probably die soon so right now he doesn’t give a fuck as long as that hand and voice don’t leave him alone. Not yet. He can feel the callous fingers squeezing his shoulder and neck just a little, as he’s wettening the black, worn down jeans, smelling from motor oil and road dust with his tears.   
  



	16. Chapter 16

Jesus Christ and Holy Mother of God. Chibs has been comforting brothers, kids, a wife – although Fiona was rarely in need of a good cry, to be honest – girlfriends, whores, family members of other brothers. He’s offered his shoulder for newly widowers, orphans or parents being forced to bury a son or daughter. He’s never been a sensitive man, in this life that’s not an option if you want to stay alive and sane, but the way the kid cries onto his lap… That’s something way out of Chibs comfort zone.  
  
Juice needs it, at least that’s obvious. It’s not bawling for attention or something. The kid seems simply unable to stop and Chibs doesn’t know what else to do than just sitting there with him, not leaving him alone.  
  
Chibs strokes the shoulders, still muscled but clearly thinner and extremely tense. Without seeing any skin other than the neck, hands and head, Chibs still knows there are a lot more damage, physical, unrepared damage, hidden beneath the hoodie and loose fitting pants. How does someone like Juice even survive for two years in prison without a circle of brothers having his back? How many did he have to give up his arse to for that? Even had he still really wanted the traitor dead, Chibs can’t really convince himself killing this human wreck off like a traitor deserves, is the right thing to do.  
  
”Ye daft wreck... Gonnae be out of water f’ye keep bawling like this. Jesus Christ, lad, ye’re givin’ _me_ a bloody headache.”  
  
He’s not saying it to make the lad stop, just to hear another sound than the sobs, but it helps, just as it used to do before the shit went down, when Juice was still Juicyboy to him, a shy prospect with more will and courage than brain. Chibs grubs in his pocket and hauls up an old handkerchief, just in case his trousers leg wont hold for another flood of this.  
  
”Hey, c’mere laddie… Juicyboy…”  
  
Helping the kid to raise from his lap isn’t easy and eventually, Juice simply falls onto Chibs’ chest instead. Has there been anyone even touching the lad without hurting him since he went to jail? Chibs knows he’s among the more affectionate men in the club, that he’s never felt it difficult just being there physically, embracing a brother who needs him. Crying’s not something shameful when it happens for good reasons and whatever Juice has been through since last they saw each other, it’s most likely happened more than one thing worth having a good cry about.  
  
”Don’t know wha’it is ye’re greeting like a wee baby for, but I’ll stay with ye until we’ve sorted this mess out, ye hear me, laddie?”  
  
The kid digs his fingers into his Chibs’ shirt, like he’s holding on for dear life onto someone who’s not even likely to want him alive. If that’s not loneliness, Chibs doesn’t know what is and whatever brotherly instincts that should be dead are taking over, he can’t ignore them. This will probably be a very long night. And he should get some ice for that bruise.


	17. Chapter 17

He’s not leaving. Chibs, the brother who got most hurt by his betrayal, isn’t leaving. Juice doesn’t care about anything but that. Not now. He’s starved of company, of anything even remotely close to friendship and right now he desperately need for the Scot to stay. He’s not kidding himself, he knows Chibs despises him, but he doesn’t give a shit. He’s already lost two families, all his friends, tried to hang himself, been a prison bitch and gotten raped more times than he can count. Fuck, Juice hasn’t really felt anything but the twisted yet calming feeling of waiting for death, for a very long time.  
  
”Ye’re okay, Juicyboy?”  
”No. But… I’m not too bad.”  
”Better than nothing. Ye need anything?”  
”No.”  
  
The ice is working it’s magic, Juice guesses Chibs got it from the landlady, who probably got charmed away like most women are with the Scot. These gestures of kindness, of comfort feel very new to him. He’s never been held like this by anyone since… actually, he can’t even remember.  
  
”What are you gonna do with me, Chibs?”  
  
The man snorts.  
  
”I oughtta blow yer head off, or at the very least tan yer miserable arse.”  
”Seems fair, I guess. Both things.”  
”Ye really don’t give a shite, do ye, laddie?”  
”As long as I don’t have to do it myself and it doesn’t take too long, I don’t.”  
”Jesus…”  
”I mean it, Chibs. I’m… so tired.”  
  
His throat is tightening and swallowing hurts.  
  
”I’m well aware there’s no forgiveness or anything I can do to make up for what I did. I was a coward and I made the wrong choise. Could’ve talked to you, or Jax, but I chose not to.”  
”Why?”  
”Because I was scared.”  
”We were yer brothers… _I_ was yer brother, Juicyboy.”  
”I know… Not trying to excuse myself, Chibby, I’m just telling you the truth. I was scared and weak and lots of people suffered because of that.”  
”Gemma…”  
  
The mention of her name makes Juice cringe. He has so many fucked up feelings about that woman, he barely knows where to start. He closes his eyes hard.  
  
”She killed Tara. Had me help her cleaning it up… I didn’t know what to… Gemma’s been almost a kind of mom to me…”  
”I know, laddie. She was mother to us all, in her own way. T’was her role, Juice. And Clay and Jax… Don’t think I’m forgiving ye for what ye did to us, the club, but… I do understand why ye couldn’t… why t’was too hard to talk to anyone. I’m sorry that ye… felt so alone, Juicyboy.”  
  
It’s way more than he’d expected and lightyears from the spite he deserves. Just a sliver of understanding, of acknowledgement but it strikes him right in his guts. He’s barely aware that he’s crying until a rough thumb strokes his cheek.  
  
”Atta boy… I’m here, Juice… Ye stupid fuck.”


	18. Chapter 18

There’s how you’re supposed to do, what you’ve agreed upon. There’s not giving a shit and do as you please anyway. And then there’s the fucking circumstances. Chibs likes to see himself as a man of principles. Loyalty, honesty within the brotherhood, not being a pussy and not whine about something you only have yourself to blame for. On the paper, it’s easy, but ever since… well, since Jax became a father for the first time, he guesses, the club and especially it’s leadership has been on a very risky road.  
  
Chibs looks down at the kid in his lap, still sniffling quietly onto Chib’s hoodie. Hurting him anymore now, would feel like torturing an already wounded animal. The very thought of it makes Chibs feel sick. The lad came clean, took his punishment, accepted his fate and made it out alive simply because his cellmate couldn’t do what he’d promised. There simply wasn’t much more one could to to punish a man who’d already accepted he was walking towards his end. _Let me just finish my pie._ Not even Clay had met his fate with that amount of dignity. Making another mayhem vote after Juice miraculously survived, just seems like an act of a coward. Can you condemn someone to life?  
  
There’d not been a word of Juice making any attempt to work against the club or retaliate while in prison. The reports had been few, mostly because someone who’s dead for the club, isn’t supposed to be treated as if he’s alive. Going numb and uncaring could be dangerous. Chibs knew of people who’d ratted out brothers just because they’d given up, and far more who did it for vengance, but Juice? Not a word. Dead men tell no tales impersonated. Chibs shivers from his thoughts and keeps petting the kid, the feeling of the skin on his neck still impossibly soft. Juice was always a tad bit too sweet and soft.  
  
Sweet things break easily. Sometimes Chibs has a hard time forgiving that too.  
  
”There wont be another Mayhem vote.”  
  
The lad stiffens and Chibs realises he was thinking aloud. Shite. Two confused, brown eyes turns towards him and fucks sake, but there are only so much hate, despise and principles Chibs can hold onto and still feel like he has a soul. Maybe not worth saving, but still. Chibs simply knows in his old, weary heart that unless he’s ready to be the one pulling the trigger, he can’t condemn Juice a second time. He knows it with the same clarity he knows he belongs on the road, that he was never supposed to be married and that he’s no longer young, feeling immortal and ready to risk about anything for a brotherhood that’s barely breathing after all the damage the Tellers did to it.  
  
”You’ll do it yourself? I… I’d very much prefer that, if… If you’d do that for me.”  
  
Mary, Mother of God! How’s it possible for someone to sound that wrecked and hopeful at the same time, while asking a former friend and brother to execute him? Chibs can barely breathe and the big, brown eyes look utterly wrecked.  
  
”Please, Chibs? You were my brother once and… and I’m just so tired. Know it’s not the way it works, but… would you consider what happened inside to me as a part of… my sentence? Not asking you because I deserve it, but because I’m too weak to get through another… process…”  
  
Honesty. The one virtue Chibs values the most and compared to the high pile of Juicy’s lies, this is barely a lump in the ground, but it hits him like a punch in the guts. He thinks about Fiona, that amazingly strong and lethal woman he once married. What would she’d done? Tell Chibs to make a choice he can live with, that’s what Fiona Larkin would say, with a hard, pityless voice. And speaking of honesty, Chibs guesses he could just as well start with himself. He has a lot of lives on his conscience, some harder to bare than others and he can live with all of them, but this…  
  
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to get away from the brown ones on his lap, and cradles the head, that stupid fucking head with those ridiculous tattoos.  
  
”There’ll be no second Mayhem vote, because I can’t kill ye and I’m not letting anyone else do it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Chibs never lied to him. Unlike Juice, the Scotsman aint no liar and beneath the just despise and disappointment, the steady heart is beating for more than the strong ones. Even those who should’ve stopped walking – or riding – a long time ago. Juice isn’t sure of what he feels right now, part from the relief for not being thrown out in the cold yet. A part of him wants to beg for forgiveness, to go all the way with this, but Juice has enough reason left not to make himself even more pathetic, if that’s even possible.  
  
The Scotsman has taken his hoodie and spread it over Juice’s tense, skinny body. More than anything, it looked forgotten, unattended like the boy really was a human wreck – or a corpse. A living dead, no longer concearned about his shell, so far beyond caring he’d forced to make himself numb. It was beyond heartbreaking, had Juice been able to see it. Chibs is.  
  
”Ye should sleep.”  
”You’ll be here when I wake up?”  
  
He’s not sure why he’s asking that, sounding like a fucking kid but perhaps that’s what happens when you were set up to die and suddenly lies alive to at least some extent in the lap of the one you begged to take you out. Juice can feel how the old hoodie, smelling from smoke, scotch and soap is tucked around him along with warmth from the man’s body.  
  
”Hey, don’t start greeting again, lad. Just sleep. Wont hurt ye in yer sleep… or sneak off.”  
”Thank you.”  
  
Juice has slept next to girls and a con. He’s crashed with brothers and crow eaters on couches and floors at the club. Slept alone in cars, his apartment and shared a room with his sister. This, though, laying with his head on Chibs’ lap, just feeling the warmth, the calm breaths and occasionally the slightly shrunken beer belly close, the familiar scent of Chibs’ aftershave and the callous hand cradling his head…  
  
Of fucking course he’s starting to cry again, soundless but still. He can’t understand why he’s suddenly turned into such a girl. There’s a deep sigh coming from the man holding him and Juice tenses.  
  
”Sorry, Chibs, I didn’t…”  
  
He can’t help it. His whole body turns into some kind of knot, he feels naked, frayed and just fucking exhausted. Chibs scratches Juice’s head, softly, almost absentminded.  
  
”What happened to ye in there, Juicyboy?”  
”What the fuck do you care, huh? You wanted me dead, man!”  
”Aye, I did. And I’m glad ye survived.That I found ye… Aint gonna hurt ye, lad, and if something happened to ye in there that wasn’t about ye ratting on us, ye should know I’m sorry if things went… too rough. Hey, Juice, look at me, will ye? No one’s gonna hurt ye here, so just try and relax a little. Ye’re warm enough? Need a blanket?”  
”Wha… I mean… yeah. If there is one.”  
  
It’s a bizarre situation, but Juice is used to that now. The lack of anything making any real sense anymore. He should be dead, alone somewhere in an anonymous burial ground, small stone with nothing but his name and dates. For a second, Juice hates Tully for not making a deep enough cut, for being sloppy with such an easy task. A quarter of an inch deeper and one less observant guard, perhaps just a little longer way to the infirmary or a less skilled prison doc… And then, when he came back to his cell after being restrained in that bed long enough, Tully actually apologized for the failure, but refused to do repeat it, claiming he’d kept his part of the deal and didn’t do seconds and Juicy simply returned to be the man’s bitch again.  
  
It wasn’t so bad, he figured. Tully didn’t torture or humiliate him worse and to Juice’s great surprise, he even defended him, made sure others knew who’s bitch the little Puerto Rican was. Trying to commit suicide under Tully’s watch wasn’t worth the trouble when you were already dead inside. As long as Juice didn’t feel shit, it worked.  
  
Chibs tucks the ugly blanket from the bed around Juice, offers him a sip from the bottle and leans back against the wall.  
  
”Just try and get some sleep, Juicyboy. I’m staying with ye until we know how to deal with this shite, ye hear me?”  
”Okay.”  
  
The strong whiskey increases the warmth, finally, and before Juice can start thinking – or crying – again, he’s drifting off.


	20. Chapter 20

”You found him?”  
”Aye… I have…”  
”And?”  
”Well… He’s… He’s a wreck, Tig.”  
”Good. Are you with him now?”  
”Aye. He’s asleep.”  
”But alive?”  
”If ye can call it that. He’s breathin’.”  
”That’s a shame.”  
”Yeah, well… He’s probably agreeing with ye on that one, brother. He’s… I don’t know, Tig, it’s like he just doesn’t care ’bout anything. He actually asked me to pull the trigger.”  
”Then why didn’t you?”  
  
It’s not an accusation as much as curiosity. Tig may be a sick bastard, but he’s interested in others reasons to change the rules. Wants to hear the reasoning before he decides whether to stick with principles or let it pass. A flexible ridigity, if there’s such a thing. Chibs figures someone who has no problem admitting he’s fucking corpses, probably can understand most fucked up choises, even if he doesn’t agree with them. Chibs lits another smoke with his free hand, hearing Tig waiting in the other end of the line.  
  
”You still there, Chibs?”  
”I’m here, brother. And I… I have no idea wha’to do, Tig. The lad is… He’s broken, he knew he wasn’t supposed to survive and it just… Have no good explanation, but it just doesn’t feel right taking him out now.”  
”You need some time to yourself?”  
”What?”  
”Club’s doing fine, we have lots of work but nothing that urgent that requires you mothering us. I’m saying, you can take some days off, brother, if you need to.”  
  
Chibs smiles to himself.  
  
”Sending your pres on vaccation?”  
”Something like that.”  
”How’s Venus?”  
”Tall, sassy and expensive.”  
  
Chibs chuckles.  
  
”Bought her another necklace?”  
”Bracelets. Plural.”  
”Ye’re so fucking whipped, brother.”  
”And I’m gonna rape your daddy’s corpse, pres. Do what you gotta do, I’ll just tell’em you’re off somewhere getting fatter and sniffing cheap pussy.”  
”Thanks, brother. I love you.”  
”Love you too, brother.”  
  
He puts his phone down and moves the empty bean can he’s using as ash tray. Juice is still sleeping in his lap, Chibs hasn’t been able to move him yet, even though he feels stiff in his back and neck and really needs to take a piss. The lad has always been skittish, a light sleeper, and Chibs has seen him wake up from the smallest sound, looking ready to run until he knows where he is. Not that Chibs childhood was the best, far from it, but he wasn’t really afraid to sleep. When Juicy had earned the patch and had it for some time, he admitted while being drunk, that he hated to sleep alone.  
  
Chibs, who’d been drunk himself, didn’t get it, thinking the kid was talking about having a lass in bed. He’d laughed and patted the lad’s back and it took several more weeks until Chibs understood what the kid meant, that he felt lonely and scared. Chibs had found him wandering around the block in the middle of night after another wet party, exhausted and fidgeting his hands. The lad couldn’t sleep and very reluctantly repeated the reason and the coin finally dropped for Chibs, who followed Juicyboy home and slept on the couch after the kid had dropped into bed. Apparantly, it worked.  
  
”Chibby…?”  
  
Sleepish, soft. Confused. Chibs is barely aware of how tenderly he reacts to the low murmur, stroking the head carefully. Two weary, surprised eyes look up at him.  
  
”You’re still here.”  
”Aye, muppet. And I need to piss, so move.”  
  
He sounds and shoves rougher than intended to, but he’s still pissed at the kid even if he feels sorry for him as well. A look of something reminding of shame flashes over Juice’s face and he scoots off quickly, eager to get away from hands that very much could hurt him.   
  
”Missing yer nazi boyfriend, lad?”  
  
Good God. What’s wrong with him? Chibs has no idea why he said that, it just slipped him and Juice’s already big eyes widens even more, childish before he drops his gaze and raises, searching his pockets for cigarettes and lights one, avoiding Chibs’ gaze.  
  
”Yeah, I do.”  
  
The voice is so small, almost a whisper and Chibs shuts his eyes. Shite. Juice blows out a cloud of smoke.  
  
”He used real lube, read me poetry and cut my throat. Even let me rest from blowjobs until I could swallow again. Quite the romantic, planned on marrying him. Of course I miss him, who wouldn’t.”


	21. Chapter 21

”You want some cheap, disgusting coffee?”  
”Aye. Thanks.”  
  
This is beyond crazy and before he went inside, Juice probably would’ve been worried. He’s always been worried, was it until he’d accepted his fate and Tully failed to kill him. _You went out good, sweetheart._ The rapes somehow got less painful when Juice accepted them, although the generous amount of lube used probably helped that too. Tully could be real sweet to him and in the situation he was in, Juice accepted that too, because a dead man is done asking for logic, reason or dignity.  
  
He puts two teaspoons of instant coffee in two cups and puts the kettle on. Chibby scrambles into the small bathroom, leaving the hoodie on the bed and Juice doesn’t know if he wishes the kindness hadn’t been shown. Jax is dead. Hell, the whole Teller-Morrow clan except for the small kids are gone and so are several of those voting mayhem on Juice. Apart from Chibby, Tigs and maybe Ratboy, Juice doesn’t think there really is anyone left outside who even knows who he is. Tully didn’t like gossip and people knew the danger in talking about his bitch, inside or outside.  
  
He makes the bed rigidly, as always, and opens the window to get some fresh air. Tully used to say Juice had some kind of OCD and maybe that’s true, but how’s it a bad thing to have a clean place? His face is sticky and he feels sore, the emptiness somehow heavier than usual this morning. Whatever usual is. Juice thinks he’s no longer really in a position to use that word to describe anything in his life. He’s been a tool for so long, the one decision he really made himself, to let Tully take him out without a struggle, feels unreal. He’s not sure why he didn’t try to end it himself afterwards, why he doesn’t have a plan for it now, but accepting being a delivery boy, living in a lonely room he never expected any visiters too. He folds the hoodie neatly on the pillow.  
  
”Ye haven’t changed.”  
  
Juice turns around and sees something close to amusement in his former brother’s scarred face as he comes out from the bathroom, hauling up another smoke and offers Juice one too. He takes it, feels the scent of soap from Chibs’ hands as the man gives light. The nicotine spreads quickly inside him and Juice takes the kettle and fills the cups before slumping down on one of the chairs.  
  
”Yes, I have.”  
  
He’s tired. Tired and fed up with drama. The time with Tully at least lacked schemes and lies and the ink went off without fire or knife. Tully had connections and didn’t want his bitch to look too shitty. Juice’s back is a mess, of course, but it’s done and the Samcro mark is no longer there. The only thing he’d felt at the time, was a surprised gratitude Tully allowed it off with minimum pain. The guy who did it, made a damn good job too.  
  
Chibs gives him an almost soft look.  
  
”I mourned ye, lad. Before the vote… and after.”  
”Good for you. How was Jack’s funeral?”  
”Quiet, or so I heard.”  
”You didn’t attend?”  
”He met Mr. Mayhem too.”  
  
Juice chuckles.  
  
”Yeah, I heard he went out like his old man. Kinda generous of you.”  
”Ye should’ve too.”  
”Not my fault Tully was a shitty killer. I did what you suggested I should, with no regrets and no intention of surviving and I’ve never spoken another word of Samcro.”  
”Ye were supposed to kill’im.”  
”Yeah, but you said it wouldn’t do any good so I didn’t. Why would I kill for Samcro if I, as you said, only could pay that debt with my own death? I was, and I am, done with killing for others, Chibs. You wanting me dead was the last one and I did it willingly. If that’s not enough for you, then maybe you should do it yourself, ’cause I’m not trying to kill myself another time. Already tried it and I wasn’t very good at it. And to be fair, you had plenty of time ordering that kill when I was inside.”  
”Tully refused. Said he only killed someone once.”  
”Yeah, he was a gentle soul…”  
  
The sarcastic tone is not escaping his former brother, who’s still standing leaning at the wall. Chibs takes two steps towards him and Juice feels the rough but warm hand on his neck. He’s squeezing it like he used to when they were still brothers and friends, comforting and patient. It’s the kind of touch Juice has forced himself to forget, tried to wipe out with memories of Tully because horrible as it was, the nazi also had his moments of gentleness and it’s easier to be a living dead if you can kill the memories of the living successfully.  
  
”I’m… I’m tired, Chibby, and I don’t understand what you want.”  
”Not sure I understand tha’ either, Juicyboy.”


	22. Chapter 22

Love has always come easy to him. Not being in love or having a relationship, but loving people seems to be the signum for Chibs, no matter if it’s good or bad or even relevant. He’s affectionate, always has been, with both men and women. And with age Chibs has found himsef growing far more tolerate of things that easily could’ve inspired him to murder in his youth. He’s close to fifty now, with the life he’s been living making him look, not to mention feel older. Juicy, despite being in his thirties, felt much younger, naive and… maybe simply just fitted for the life with Samcro from the beginning. For some reason, Chibs still thinks of him as a kid, even if the time inside visibly made him older the way shit you can’t escape does.  
  
Chibs can’t really explain to himself why he holds the kid. Affectionate or not, Chibs has never been one to regret a just kill or other things he can’t change. It’s a waste of time and only makes you think too much. Thinking too much of messy things, makes you unstable and Chibs has had enough of drama for a lifetime, thanks to Teller-Morrow. So many lives, so much unnecessairy violence and shit that could’ve been avoided had that family not been so fucking twisted and able to pull so many people into their webb of lies and secrets. Chibs loved them all and that made the betrayal so much worse, but it’s still nothing compared to what he felt when Juicy tried to hang himself or confessed everything about Gemma and Clay to him in prison.  
  
When leaving, Chibs still had been too hurt by Juice’s betrayal, he just wanted to have it done so he could move on with his own life. In a way, he has. The club is legit, so are business and there’s not been anymore kills, blow-ups or other shit coming from Teller-Moore or Samcro for a long time. The load of work has more or less buried him, kept him too occupied to think much of the past and the rest of the time, Chibs has made sure to have distractions in forms of pussy, booze, friends and long solo rides to just clear his head and relax. He’s had some lasses, but no one steady since the police woman and they really didn’t suit each other in the long run. Chibs likes a challenge, but he’s not twentyfive anymore and he’s never _loved_ another woman than Fiona. She’s still his wife and for some reason they’ve never gotten a divorce, just left each other alone and lived their lives. None of them was the marrying kind anyway and Chibs somehow knew there would be no second spouse for either of them.  
  
Juice sighs and without really thinking, Chibs plants a kiss on the head, still squeezing the tense neck. Jax, Gemma, Clay, Bobby, Piney, Tara, Opie, Donna, John… Chibs is used to death, but he’s seen so much of it among the people he loves and when he’s allowed himself to think about it, which isn’t too often, he’s often stricken by how unnecessairy most of the deaths have been. The misunderstandings and misjudged situations leading up to them have nothing brotherly, heroic or necessairy in them. They’re just fucking sad and the Catholic guilt Chibs used to joke about, isn’t so much a joke as a small, but very vital organ in his body because despite all the sins and crimes he’s done, Chibs still has a conscience and a heart. A heart Juicy is now leaning onto, with all the weight of the loneliness he’s bearing with a horrifying acceptance. Just because love comes easy to him, it doesn’t mean it’s easy to love.  
  
”What are you gonna do, Chibby?”  
  
He’s drawn out of his weary mind and back to the man he’s holding, because Juice is a man even if Chibs probably wont be able to stop calling him lad out loud or in his head. The lad’s voice sounds so tired and he’s leaning onto Chib’s chest with a trust Chibs knows he hasn’t earned. Not this time. It’s too much vulnerability, too many fragile emotions on display at once and Chibs is only human. Juicyboy knows that and lets Chibs cry without comments.


	23. Chapter 23

He’s been shut down for a very long time. That’s the only reason he’s still drawing breath. Juice isn’t really sure how it happened, only that it did and he’s no longer really human. It’s been a while since he could feel shit like he used to and Chibs is turning that rusty, untouched button around with his presence, his closeness, his lack of spite and coldness. It’s an ambush but Juice is a traitor and the rules of decency no longer apply to him. That’s why the man who wanted him killed is crying, because there are no fucking rules anymore and Chibs isn’t Jax or Clay who could kill without thinking it through and neither is he Tiggy, who’s moral is on a different level in every way.  
  
The embrace shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t actually feel at all, but Juice is too tired to contemplate that right now. He’s not had a hug like this, nevermind a long one, for years and whatever opening still left in his closed body and mind, Chibs slips trough it, spreading that long lost feeling of care and comfort Juice has been so starved off.  
  
He’s helpless to the invitation, can’t deny himself this no matter how fleet the moment and feeling will be. If Chibs refuses to kill him, the Sons wont do it either and that means Juice either has to do it himself or piss someone off enough to get killed. Assisted suicide is still suicide, though, and Juice doesn’t want to go out like that again. It didn’t work then and he’s afraid he’ll wake up a second time, restrained to a bed with meds shutting him down. He’s taking the prescribed shit and attends his meetings with the healthcare but they can’t help him and he never expected them too, either. Tomorrow morning he will either be dead or delivering groceries again and it doesn’t matter which. Right now he just leans onto Chib’s chest, pulling the scent of him into his lungs, savoring the fucked up, soft moment.  
  
”I loved ye. Loved ye so much and ye turned yer back on me…”  
  
_I. Me._ Not _we_ or _us_. Juice can’t help but holding Chib’s hoodie a little tighter and a small, broken sound slips the man.  
  
”Broke my heart, Juicyboy… Ye didn’t come to me first and it _broke my fucking heart!_  How can I forgive ye for that? Ye should’ve been dead, lad, so I could’ve mourned ye properly instead of this shite.”  
”There’s still time for that.”  
  
Juice swallows.  
  
”You’ve lost far better brothers than me over the years and I’m only alive because Tully was a shitty killer who wanted to fuck me. I’m done, Chibby. I don’t know if I’ve paid my debt to the club or you or anyone, or if it’s even possible for me to do ever do that, but I don’t care anymore. I have nothing left to live for and I’m not gonna kill myself so how’s that for a lifeterm sentence?”  
”Don’t think I’m gonna feel sorry for ye.”  
”Did I fucking ask for your pity!?”  
  
He barks it out, grasping the other man’s shoulder and Chibs startles a little. Juice was never one to actually raise his voice or show much anger, never acting out in front of others if he could avoid it.  
  
”I didn’t ask for you to come looking for me or spare my life a second time, Chibby. I asked you to stay the night and you did and I’m grateful for that and the only other thing I’ve asked you for, is to put me off quickly. I fucking lead you to it freely and the last thing I asked for, was for you to spare me or have fucking pity!”  
  
He’s breathing fast, heart pounding again like there’s still real life left inside of him and not just mechanical pulse beats. His mouth feels so dry, lips numb and he’s still not let go of Chibs’ clothes, still clutching the old fabric like it’s a lifeline when, in fact, it’s the opposite. Or should be.  
  
”I’ll… I’ll follow you again, _brother_ , if you change your mind. Tell Samcro I killed myself, that you found me hanging or with my fucking wrists cut up. Hell, take a picture or take a piece of me with you as a proof because _I don’t care, brother_. Or go back and make another vote, tell them I’m waiting, that I’d welcome it because I’m no coward, not anymore, and the only thing that matters to, is myself. _Don’t think for one moment, Chibs, that I’m unaware of how alone I am, and why!_ ”  
  
He all but spits out the last sentence, nails digging deep through the layers of clothing, blunt grasp into Chibs back as he’s asking for a death without humiliation or torture, fully aware of how pathetic he must look and sound, how little he deserves to be put out of the misery he brought upon himself with his treason and cowardness. He leans into the man’s ear, squeezing his eyes shut, like the words he’s said and is about to say will hurt less if he can’t see while speaking them.  
  
”Loved you too, brother. Still do. Doesn’t matter what you decide, I’ll love you either way. Can’t just turn that off.”  
  
And while Chibs is quiet and Juice is numb, he can still feel the wetness down his neck from the other man’s tears.


	24. Chapter 24

The lad probably thinks Chibs is greeting because of the betrayal, or the disappointment of finding him alive. That he’s forcing him and the club to go through another decision of life and death because he didn’t have the decency of getting in the ground the first time. It seems like Juice truly doesn’t give a shit about anything but being spared torture and humiliation and not being remembered as a complete coward to all people alive by killing himself. But Chibs’ tears have nothing to do with that, or the mayhem vote, the club or even the betrayal. May God forgive his sorry old ass, but he loves the boy, always has and Juice never knew _. No one_ knew, not even Fiona, though she had her suspicions.  
  
Chibs holds onto the kid who once probably saw him as a kind of father figure, as so many of the younger recruits did before they grew into the patch. It’s the way it works in this kind of life, younger men looking up to the older brothers, seeking for their approval – and protection. Chibs never let anyone know just how fond he grew of the younger man, he knew exactly where to draw the line to protect them both and he’s never been even close to have his carefully hidden feelings discovered or exposed in any way.  
  
In a club where the words ”I love you, brother” are heard daily and not only accepted but expected, Chibs has been able to express that love with words without fear, only Juice never knew that his ”I love you, lad”, meant something more. Juice has no idea Chibs isn’t bawling for the betrayal, but for the fact that he forced himself to have the one he loved the most killed. That Juice wasn’t a rat or even former brother to him when word came from Stockton he’d survived the execution he freely accepted as his punishment, but someone  Chibs was unable to stop loving. He can’t turn that off either, no more than Juice.  
_  
Doesn’t matter what you decide, I’ll love you either way._ Juicyboy isn’t lying to him, or exaggerating and the only thing Chibs has done to deserve this wholehearted oppenness, is that he was honest to the kid the last time he saw him before the failed murder. Juice strokes his back, cautiously, as if fearing rejection and Chibs pulls him closer and holds the shell of his former brother pressed to his chest, trying to wipe that part of the fear out without using words. The lad is skinny and tense and Chibs is no idiot, he can picture the pain Juice has been put through the last years and why it’s nothing but unbelievable that he made it out with his heart still beating.  
  
He kisses the lad’s head, trying not to think of all the shit he was forced to carry around inside it. How the weight of it drove him to try and commit suicide, how Chibs had screamed about the cowardness in the act when all he really meant was _I love you so much and you’re breaking my fucking heart if you leave me this way, you goddamn idiot_. None of the kills Chibs committed, ordered or just agreed to, has made him feel so wrecked as Juicy’s suicide attempt or failed execution. Neither the remaining brothers and friends, nor the women he’s had since then, have filled that void. Out of all the faces looking at him from the past, Juice is the only one that never got that merciful cover of acceptance that made it possible to move on. Chibs hates himself for it, for not being able to save the kid from Clay, Gemma, Jax and himself. Betrayal or not, Juice was too good for this life and Chibs is shocked by that thought, that he’s even able to form it without just stomping it out in an instance.  
  
”Chibby…?”  
”Aye?”  
”I’m tired. If you… If you’re not… I need some sleep.”  
  
He’s not really asking, it’s merely a warning that he’s about to fall asleep again and wants to know what Chibs has planned. When trying to gather his thoughts, Chibs realises he has no fucking answer to that. He doesn’t feel like he’s able to do anything, or make any decisions in this moment. He just wants to hold the lad and forget all about his pres patch and the other ones too, along with the votes, that fucking club stick and all the deaths he’s been able to put a stop to.  
  
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t do any of the things he’s supposed to. Maybe that’s why he wipes the last tears from his face and rubs Juicy’s shoulders a little.  
  
”Ye go ahead and rest, lad.”  
”You’re staying?”  
”Aye.”  
  
The sigh coming from the lad is deep and Chibs hates himself, Juicy, Samcro, Tully and the world for what they’ve done to the kid, for breaking him down so completely. He can’t believe himself for opening his mouth, or the words he’s spilling:  
  
”I’ll hold ye, Juicyboy… If ye want me to.”


	25. Chapter 25

The combination of violence and comfort is not new to him. Juice is so tired and for all he cares, Chibs could be pulling up a knife and dangle it before his face now and it wouldn’t decrease the unexpected but familiar sence of safety. There’s really no room for balance, for normality of any sort in the kind of life they’re living. In the prison, Juice even remembers reaching for Tully in the gap between wake and sleep sometimes and being pulled in, held close if only to not scream from nightmares, waking up the rest of the block and drawing the guards attention.   
  
Between the rapes and humiliation, Tully could be kind. A psycho, but one that got more out of other forms of power than simply breaking bones or making slurs. Smart, dangerous and very fond of games, not really relishing that much in Juice’s physical pain, as in the psychological submission and his pet’s inner break-down. Tully owned him, they both knew it, and as Juice accepted it, Tully really didn’t have to make it any worse than it already was, to keep it going. Being held and petted like a lover after another rape with a surprisingly generous amount of lube, became normal and Juice was already dead so why bother protesting, fighting or even having an opinion?  
  
No, this is not new, if you only look at the lowest common denomitator: Juice being held and comforted by a man after being physically hurt by him. Not that Chibs’ punches are comparable to Tully’s rapes but Juice reacts almost the same way to them:  seeking just a little bit of compassion, a sliver of kindness to remind himself he’s still human after all.  
  
So he drifts towards sleep again. Only half aware of it, Juice cuddles into Chibs, too far gone to be afraid of rejection and he meets none. His tense body, so used to a constant pain for so long, sighs without a sound, the numb muscles screaming for rest, for lack of pain, for anything that doesn’t make them hurt more than they already do.  
  
”Don’t let go of me… Chibby, please…”  
  
He’s barely awake, or conscious of what he’s saying, just needing the man to let him pretend he’s not alone, if so only until he’s asleep again.  
  
His former brother moves a little and Juice tenses as he’s shifted to lay down on the bed, realising Chibs will leave now because why wouldn’t he? A small, pathetic whimper slips Juice as he lets go of the man and Chibs sighs.  
  
”Don’t ye start greeting again, lad, or I’ll fucking gag ye. C’mere, ye daft muppet.”  
  
He’s being pulled to lie on Chibs’ arm, close to the man’s chest with the other arm swirled around his shoulders. Chibs’ voice is harsh again, no traces of the tears earlier and Juice has no wish what so ever of reminding him that Juice isn’t the only one of the to cry.   
  
Chibs lays still for a while and Juice tries to lay still, afraid he’ll be pushed away if he’s moving in the wrong way.  
  
”Juicyboy…”  
”What?”  
”Please, try’an’ relax a little. Ye want me to let go of ye?”  
”No…”  
  
Chibs doesn’t answer, but simply starts scratching Juice’s neck. It’s soft and after the initial surprise even relaxing, intimate in a way Juice has rarely experienced with anyone. Warm, callous fingers with blunt nails scraping over his nape, despite the lack of earlier experience familiar and safe because Chibs isn’t the kind of man who actually likes hurting people, or relishes in retaliation. Not all things have changed.  
  
The man’s body is warm and relaxed, far more so than Juicy’s. Chibs is neither ripped nor has he the kind of bulging muscles Jax has. _Had._ He’s simply… steady and safe and Juice tries to forget about the times when the man would give him a hug, a pat on his shoulder or on occasion a squeeze on the neck or light kiss on the head to comfort, encourage or simply just remind Juice he wasn’t alone. When he still deserved comfort and closeness.  
  
A soft, deep murmering pulls him away from his disastrous past. Chibs is singing, or humming something, some kind of song in a language Juice realises must be gaelic and he’s stunned, unable to do anything but simply allow his body and mind the offered rest, with the soft words flowing from the biker:  
  
”Seinn an duan seo dhan Innis Àigh, an innis uaine as gile tràigh. Bidh sian air uairean a' bagairt cruaidh ris, ach se mo luaidh-sa bhith ann a' tàmh…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song Chibs is (trying to) sing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCzUSJo5zqI


	26. Chapter 26

Christ almighty, how did he get into this situation? Chibs hauls up his phone, trying not to disturb the muppet snoring into his neck. It’s not that it bothers him really, having Juicy close, but it should. The fact that it doesn’t, is more than a little disturbing. Chibs never liked the idea of crushing someone who’s already broken and truth be told, he has a soft spot for fragile things. Wee babies, kids, kittens and puppies. Not that he likes them, he just… doesn’t like the idea of them vulnerable creatures getting hurt. Juice is neither a child nor a small animal, despite his way of curling himself like a little cat in his sleep. He’s a rat, confirmed, self-admitted, judged and thrown away like the garbage he is.  
  
Although only thinking it to himself, Chibs feels a tug in his chest as he calls Juice _garbage_ in his head, an instant need for another word popping up from nowhere. Idiot, maybe. Stupid, fragile, soft idiot who instead of laying six feet under in anonymous silence, is tucked to Chibs’ chest, turning him into a weekminded, soft-hearted pussy, not only unable to kill a coward and traitor, but letting him sleep on his goddamn arm like he’s a poor, innocent child in need of well-earned comfort. Chibs is suddenly disgusted, not primarly by Juice, but himself and before he can think straight, he practically rips his arm away from the kid’s head and pushed him away, far more violent than he’d intended to.  
  
The heavy thump is followed by a shocked whimper as the kid falls onto the floor and when Chibs moves to get on his feet, the kid is turning to a small ball, arms swirled around the head to protect himself and the long sleeves are falling down to the elbows, exposing marbled skin.  
  
”Jesus…”  
  
Chibs forgets about the previous situation, that he let a rat sleep on his arm, the anger and disgust gone as quickly as it came. Juice isn’t saying anything, only trying to muffle the whimpers and when Chibs moves, the kid of course scoots away. Chibs grits his teeth and sighs.  
  
”Juicy… Juice? I didn’t mean to scuff ye off yer bed, lad. I’m sorry, I… Hey, jus’ look at me, Juicyboy.”  
  
Another attempt to get closer, only awakes the same reaction, Juice moving away like a scared and wounded little animal who’d made the mistake to trust humans again against better judgement. Chibs only does what he hopes is at least close to the right thing, backing off a little more, but slowly.  
  
”Aint gonna hurt ye, lad, I promise. Not really into singing lullabies for people I’m abou’ to kill. Figure that’d be more of Tiggy’s style. I was just… a wee bit surprised.”  
  
The kid doesn’t answer and Chibs recalls the time when they were to bring out Clay and Bobby pointed at Jax, claiming that he used Juice as a tool for that. He also recalls Bobby voting no to Mayhem for Clay, how Jax barely a minute later had thrown himself at his old man. How Bobby later told him that he’d done it because he loved Jax. Truth is, no matter how much they’ve talked about brotherhood and honesty and equality, they’ve always made one excuse or another for both Clay and Jax. For Gemma. Not being a part of the club never meant she didn’t control it in some ways. And as far as Chibs knows, they did it because they loved them. Because rules, guidelines, honor codes and so on only carries you so far. Without love and at least some extent of forgiveness, compassion, they mean nothing.  
  
That’s why he ended up in this situation, talking to the rat like he’s a wounded, skittish little animal for throwing him off the bed.  
  
”Juice, I’m sorry, Alright? I… Ye know, it’s not as if me wakin’ up next to a lad is somethin’ I’m bloody used to, kid. Especially not ye.”  
”Well… I’m not used to waking up next to anyone but Ron Tully either. Especially not a pissed club pres who sings lullabies in… fucking Scottish to me.”  
”Gaelic.”  
”What?”  
”T’is called Gaelic, ye muppet, not Scottish.”  
”Whatever.”  
  
The smallest laugh elicits from the boy’s lips, soft and tired, sounding like he’s forgotten how to actually laugh and Chibs reaches his hand out.  
  
”C’mere, Juicyboy. C’mere…”  
  
He’s not sure if he wants to, or if he’s earned the trust or why the hell he does it, but it’s like an instinct, offering comfort to this sad, exhausted little bastard. He doesn’t know anything right now, only how Juice’s skittish little heart runs wild as Chibs finally can press him to his chest again.  
  
”T’is gonna be alright, lad… Don’t cry…”  
”I’m not, actually. You just freaked me out.”  
”I’m sorry.”  
  
He’s murmering into the neck, finally taking a real look at the scar from the stabbing. It should’ve been fatal, Tully didn’t miss on purpose and Chibs holds the lad tighter. The scent, the sweet, sweet scent from the skin and the god awful tension in Juicy’s muscles is a contrast Chibs only knows one way to deal with: rubbing his back in smooth, steady circles, unthreatening and predictable.  
  
”Juicyboy… Ye daft muppet, t’is gonna be alright. I’m right here, t’is gonna be alright, li’l darlin’…”


	27. Chapter 27

Not caring and not feeling aint the same thing. Juice can’t get his head around Chibs’ intentions, the man seems honestly confused and that makes two of them, only Juice doesn’t fear any other outcome of it than meeting another mayhem from the club in shame and humiliation, or having to finish his own life with another bitter, spiteful suggestion from Chibs to kill himself. He’s been able to handle the contrasts this far, but there’s a limit even for a dead man.  
  
”Who did that?”  
  
The Scotsman nods at him from the table, where he’s smoking over the coffee and a bagel. Eating breakfast is a contrast too, ten minutes after you’ve went down from a panic attack.  
  
”What?”  
”The ink.”  
”Oh… A friend of Tully’s.”  
”A nazi helped ye gettin’ rid of it?”  
  
It’s more surprise than scorn in the voice and Juice takes his own cup and sits down, breaking the other bagel in half.  
  
”Yeah.”  
”Why?”  
”Guess fire, knives or blackening didn’t do it for Tully. Prefered his bitch less messy.”  
  
Chibs looks like he didn’t want to hear that but Juice doesn’t give a shit. The man knows what it’s like inside and it’s hardly a secret to him that Juice was Tully’s bitch. After all, that’s what Jax wanted and Juice takes a small bite of the bagel.  
  
”Jax gave him free hands, more or less.”  
”Jax?”  
  
The older man actually startles a little and Juice can’t help but smile.  
  
”You didn’t know that? Man… Jax sure liked his secrets. Doesn’t matter anymore though but yeah, Jax told Tully he could do whatever he wanted before it was time to finish me, as long as the ink went in one way or another. When Tully failed to put me down, he let one of his nazi buddies remove it. Took a fucking eternity.”  
”That’s one hell of a work for a dead man. Tully must’ve been fond of ye.”  
  
Juice just shrugs.  
  
”I was available, alone and with no back-up inside or outside. Easy target. For some fucked up reason, killing someone twice didn’t agree with his high moral standards.”  
”Jesus…”  
”Aint got Aids or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about, considering I blead on you. Tully didn’t like to share.”  
”Not sure I want to hear anymore of this.”  
  
Juice just laughs.  
  
”What? You asked, man, and I thought you didn’t like it when I lied so this little truth should suit you.”  
  
He moves his cup in circles, a nervous tic he gets whenever he’s both tired and on high alert.  
  
”I already know what you think of me, Chibby, and I’m not gonna try and defend myself again. It is what it is and no one’s forcing you to be here. I asked and I don’t see any gun pointing at you. If you don’t want to, or can’t kill me yourself for one reason or another, that’s fine. But if you’re not planning to do it, or handing me over to Tig or a mayhem vote, then what the hell are you doing here? There’s plenty of bad coffee at the garage.”  
”Not as bad as this. Look, Juice, I didn’t… Christ, I didn’t _want_ for any of this shite to happen to ye.”  
”I know, but it doesn’t change anything. Though you out of all people would be first to say that. I still betrayed you. Fact that I didn’t do shit against you or Samcro after the stabbing, not a word for three years, doesn’t make it up for the shit I caused but if you’re here to checkout how much of a threat I am, you’ve had plenty of time doing that.”  
  
Juice sighs and then laughs again, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
”I’m just so… _done_ , Chibs. I never thought I’d survive Stockton, didn’t even make an effort to and I have no idea why I’m still alive. There’s no fucking logic to it and I’m sick of being me. If you can’t put a gun in my mouth, then ask Tig.”  
”Stop. Please… just stop it, Juicyboy. C’mere.”  
  
The older man nods at him and Juice raises from his chair, approaches the other side of the table and Chibs tugs at his hoodie.  
  
”Take it off.”  
  
An man who’s already dead got nothing to hide and Juice pulls the hoodie and t-shirt off in one move. Chibs turns him around so he’s having his back against the Scot. Juice can feel his breath on the slightly scarred skin as the other tattoo – or lack of it – is inspected. Chibs’ fingers are trailing lightly over the place where the reaper used to be. Juice feels strangely vulnerable despite his lack of life lust and he sighs.   
  
”S’it good enough or do I need to prepare myself for your lighter?”  
”No.”  
  
Chibs sounds unusually quiet and Juice shivers.  
  
”Can I get dressed?”  
  
He doesn’t have to ask. Fucks sake, this is his place, his body and Chibs isn’t his friend or brother and definately not his VP anymore. Neither is he Tully and Juice is no ones bitch anymore.  
  
”It… went off good, lad.”  
  
_You went out good, sweetheart._ Juice can feel himself tensing again, badly, and he scrambles to put his t-shirt and hoodie back on, every move making his muscles scream at him for not having the decency of dying in time and let them rest. The smoke from Chibs’ cigarette is travelling up to the roof in the naked motel room and there’s just something deeply pathetic and undignified about this whole situation.   
  
Juice takes a cigarette from Chib’s package on the table and the older man lights it for him. A small, ordinary gesture friends or even friendly strangers do for each other. Him and Chibs are neither.  
  
”I missed ye…”  
”What?”  
  
The Scot scratches his chin, looking out the small window with an unreadable gaze. He swallows another sip of the cheap coffee and makes a grimaze.  
  
”I missed ye, lad. That’s why I’m still here.”


	28. Chapter 28

Ratboy and Happy. Those two are the only ones that may or may not oppose a threat to Juice. Then it’s Tig, who’s in a category of his own on practically every level, and the rest have never even met the kid. These days, Samcro is not only legit, but more particular with it’s prospects. The four remaining ”oldies”, as in members from the time when the Tellers ran the club with Chibs as the leader, try to make sure the old wildfire isn’t repeated and so far it’s gone pretty well. These days, Samcro and Teller-Moore actually are nothing but a bikers club and a mechanic shop. Who would’ve thought…  
  
Chibs listens to the sound from the shower. Juice has locked the door to the bathroom and promises and trust or not, Chibs can’t really blame him. Getting to shower, shit, sleep and eat on your own always feels like a luxuary after a time inside.  
  
The room really is quite depressing, although not as a cell, of course. There are very little evidence of anyone living there, no surprise. Chibs knows he shouldn’t be snooping around but he’s worried, restless and bored. The closet has a few clothes inside, neatly folded of course, and a couple of towels and sheets. A pair of worn boots with new laces tucked inside the shafts, a small pile of underwears, socks and some t-shirts with no prints. Another hoodie and a pair of grey cargo pants. Nothing what so ever reminding of Samcro or the MC.  
  
A sound from the bathroom has him shutting the wardrobe door and move back to the table, just in time before the kid comes out, dressed in black cargos and a dark grey tank top, once again reminding Chibs of how pale and skinny he is. Juice simply looks really small, shrunken, despite the still toned body. The boy caughts him staring and raises his eyebrows.  
  
”What?”  
”Ye’re skinny.”  
”I know. And you have a beer gut.”  
”Hey, it’s been shrinkin’.”  
”If you say so.”  
  
Juice starts cleaning off the small table, apparantly done talking for now. Chibs follows his moves as he puts the cups in the sink, wipes the table collecting crumbs in his hand not have them fall on the floor. Then he does the dishes, even drying it with a clean kitchen towel before putting the two cups, the bread knife and teaspoons back on the shelf. He takes the small broom and dustpan, sweeping the floor around the kitchen area and finishes by folding the towel to hang and dry on the chair.  
  
The work is methodically and actually seems to be relaxing, if you can use that word on someone like Juice. When having something to do, a practical task no matter how small or overlooked by others, he almost seems content. Like there’s a small bit of reason even in this reality. Unbidden, an old memory comes to Chibs and he remembers Jack’s words when coming back from the meeting with Tully: _The nazi just got himself a Spic cell maid._ The VP obviously thought is was very funny but Chibs didn’t laugh. It got stuck in the throat, the wound still far too fresh for that kind of joke, especially one that wasn’t funny even during the best circumstances. After all, Chibs had some standards.  
  
”I think ye’ve done what ye can here, unless ye’re gonna mop the floor too.”  
”I’ll do that tonight.”  
”When’s yer work start?”  
”Don’t work on weekends.”  
”Can ye leave town?”  
”And go where? A ride to Charming, perhaps? Drop by Teller-Morrow to see how Tiggy’s doing? Having ice cream at the park with old friends? You know, normal shit to do while a former friend decides if he feels like pulling that fucking trigger or wants to give another old friend the chance. You wanna be a spectator to my shitty life, go ahead. Just spare me fucking comments.”  
  
All the time since finding out about Juice’s betrayal, Chibs has felt the kind of righteous hurt only a friend turning his back on you can elicit. It’s not a new feeling and the kid certainly isn’t the only one who’ve made Chibs feel it. After all of Jax’s, Clay’s and Gemma’s lies, Chib’s image of the club’s loyalty has changed a lot and the part of him that can’t kill, or leave, Juice right now is due to that change as much as the love he felt and still feels for the boy. Juice was right. You can’t just turn that shit off and to be honest, it scares the living shit out of Chibs.  
  
”Lodi Lake.”  
”What?”  
”If you still don’t have any better things to do than being with me, we could go to Lodi and stare at the water. Unless there’s a risk someone sees you there with a bitch rat. You’d have to give me a ride, though.”  
  
It’s so obvious Juice doesn’t take his own proposal serious at all, smirking at Chibs with the last comment about getting a ride which he clearly says as a joke. He keeps doing the long since finished house chores and Chibs has had enough of both of them, at least in this room. He raises from the chair and goes to the door.  
  
”Ye comin’ or not?”


	29. Chapter 29

Once he would’ve been ashamed to death for bitch riding unless a road accident or some equal emergency demands it. Now as he’s already dead, it doesn’t matter and neither should the lake, but he’s spent the last years in prison, most of that time in a small cell and the only nature provided on the telly. Tully used to read poetry to him though, with nature theme. The nazi had a surprisingly good voice for poetry reading.  
  
It feels strange just putting the helmet on, not to mention sitting up behind Chibs. As the man starts the Dyna, Juice holds a light grip around his waist, trying not to remember how it felt when he was free to ride his own. The engine roars beautifully and Juice keeps his head down, in case someone from his earlier life should reckognize him by a swift view of his face and decide to chase after them. Not that Juice cares personally, but he doesn’t want Chibs to get into some more shit because of him.  
  
The road to the lake isn’t long at all and Juice already misses the ride when they get there and Chibs turns the engine off. It’s a beautiful day and a quick look around reveals no bikers or patches, just families, kids and couples enjoying the weather, eating ice cream, playing frisbee and taking stupid pics with their phones. A few curious looks on the biker and his passanger reaches Juice, but people are used to bikers here and after the initial check, people no longer care. Chibs wears his sunglasses and Juice follows him like the lost puppy he’s always been, slightly behind him as the man searches for a spot to sit on, heading towards some trees.  
  
”Lets go, lad.”  
  
For just the slightest moment, Juice thinks Chibs has a rope hidden under his cut, about to offer a chance for him to end his life the way Chibs once stopped him from. This time, in a really beautiful surrounding.  
  
”Wha’ are ye starrin’ at, ye muppet? C’mon!”  
  
Juice swallows and forces the memory away, following his former friend to the grove. Chibs rolls his shoulders, removes the cut and squats under a big tree. He’s not as soft in his joints anymore and sits down with a sigh, leaning back at the bole. Juice reluctantly walks closer, not really sure where to sit when Chibs pats the ground next to him.  
  
”Just fuckin’ sit. Doubt the ground will open up beneath ye.”  
  
Too bad. Juice scrambles to sit down, close but not so close that they’re touching. The tree bole feels course and Chibs hands him a smoke and the lighter.  
  
It’s quiet. Well, not really, but quiet from a lot of sounds Juice has had around him for he past years and the sounds from the water, the soft wind in the trees and distant voices of people very unlikely here to beat, rape or kill him, are soothing. _Nature doesn’t care about good or bad, right or wrong or our little schemes, sweetheart._ Another memory of Tully, thankfully one of few almost good ones, passes Juice’s mind and he shivers.  
  
”Ye alright?”  
”Yeah… Sorry, I’m…”  
”Freezin’?”  
  
Juice shakes his head.  
  
”Just bad memories.”  
”From this place?”  
”No. Stockton.”  
  
He’s not in the mood for talking about that or anything at all. It’s a peaceful place, beautiful in every way, and Juice doesn’t want to ruin it by talking about reality. The trea coat hurts his spine, the hoodie isn’t as good a protection as leather and he squirms a little, causing the Scot to take his sunglasses off and look at him, sighing.  
  
”Jesus Christ, lad, just get yer bony ass over here. Have enough fat for both of us.”  
  
He would’ve been ashamed of this too. How Chibs both sees and points out his weakness, wounds he doesn’t want to show and how easy it is to take the blunt offer. Just a little piece of softness, kindness, warmth… Doesn’t matter who’s offering or how embarrassing it is, not when you’re starving. Juice moves slowly without looking the man in the eyes and sits down between his thighs, not quite leaning back until a callous hand encourages him with a light press on his frame.  
  
It reminds him of being alive. The steady, warm support behind his aching back, the heartbeats of another human being knocking on his shoulders. The spot holds no particular Samcro memories to him or pushes any other buttons in his fucked up head. Juice smiles into Chibs’ hoodie. This is a good place to die.


	30. Chapter 30

_You wanna be a spectator to my shitty life, go ahead. Just spare me fucking comments._ Well, Chibs is quiet now. Christ, the lad is scrawny! He didn’t really notice how sharp those miserable bones felt before and he hauls up a forgotten chocolate bar from his cut.  
  
”Here.”  
”No, thanks.”  
”Ye need some meat on’em bones, lad.”  
”That’s not meat, man. And I’m not really hungry.”  
”So? Still bony as fuck.”  
”Yeah, I’m on a diet, getting in shape for my coffin.”  
  
Chibs freezes a second and then it hits him. _Jesus Christ…_ Part of him wants to smash the kid’s face, another part to simply throw him off his lap and… The third part, the logic and life experience takes over, thank God, making him stop and think. He pets the head, wondering how badly it is in there, how long since the kid felt any kind of real safety.  
  
”Ye thought I brought ye here to kill ye?”  
”Don’t know what you’re thinking, Chibs. But _if_ that was your plan, it’s a nice one. Are way worse places to die, don’t you agree?”  
”Aye. There are. Wasn’t my plan, though. To kill ye. Not here, not anywhere.”  
  
How the hell is he able to talk so calmly when he should be fucking screaming to the kid’s face?  
  
”Aren’t they waiting for you?”  
”Who?”  
”Tig and the others.”  
”They don’t know where I am or what I’m doin’.”  
”Or with whom?”  
”No. Didn’t tell’em tha’ either.”  
  
Maybe he should throw a fit, get in the kid’s face about it but Chibs can’t recall having met anyone with this plain and undramatic, almost stoic attitude to this subject before. The calm surrounding the man in his arms is about more than this place, or Chibs. The relief in someone who’s been alone for so long that any company, any kindness will do if it’s the last thing he’ll experience. Juice doesn’t need any comments to his fall from grace, no more forgiveness, time to explain or defend himself. Just the mercy of not having to die alone. It’s stuck in his head since a very long time, Chibs realises with horror, and it’s not the deathwish in itself that digs a hole in him, but the request, the naked loneliness Juicy shows because he doesn’t have anything to loose anymore.  
   
”Love you, Chibby. Just want you to know that.”  
”Love ye too, Juicyboy.”  
  
He didn’t realise he was saying it out loud. Shit. Chibs feels his chest tighten and he shuts his eyes. Why? Why the hell does the kid have to make him say shit like that? Things that can’t be unsaid or taken back, because Chibs can’t lie about that and Juice knows it. He could crush the kid in his arms like nothing and still, it seems like Juice has the real leverage here.  
  
When Juice turns his head, two brown, confused but calm eyes looking directly at Chibs’ dark ones, Chibs does what he’s denied himself, pretended not to want for years, and plants a soft kiss on the slightly parted lips. _  
_


	31. Chapter 31

Chibs tastes the way he smells: a mixture of cigarettes, scotch, musk and coffee. Juice has never kissed nor been kissed by a man before, not like this. He’s not actually kissed many girls either, always found it a little pointless and whores are the kind of girls you don’t really kiss anyway. A brotherly peck on cheek is, of course, a whole different thing than this and the surprise makes him open up a little more, not really knowing if he’s encouraging Chibs or just is too stunned to shut his mouth.  
  
He’s so tense he could probably crack like a dry branch, if someone bent him in any direction. He’s just one, single frozen muscle as he feels the man’s tongue slide over his teeth, a hand cradling his head and it’s warm, soft and too much of everything at the same time. When Chibs pulls back, Juice realises he must look as terrified as he feels, because there’s a worried frown on the man’s face.  
  
”I-I… I’m sorry, Chibby… God, I…”  
”Hey… Hey, Juicyboy, calm down.”  
  
The calm, friendly voice doesn’t carry a trace of disgust in it, just concern and kindness. Juice buries his face in his hands, practically trembling now.  
  
”Please, Chibby, I didn’t mean to… I… I’m just… Holy shit, what did I just do…!”  
”Let an ol’ Scotsman give ye a French kiss without kickin’ his balls. I’m sorry, kiddo, I… I overst…”  
  
He doesn’t let the man finish. Instead, Juice just puts a hand on Chib’s neck and slots their mouths together again, Chib’s course beard scraping against him, their teeth clattering, almost drawing blood as they pant, clutching onto each other like mad men. Juice feels dizzy, head strangely empty of everything except the bitter, manly taste of cigarettes and whiskey, the slick warmth and the gasps and grunts slipping from them as they’re trying to get even closer.  
  
Juice’s mind is fluttering, the contrasts and the pace becoming too much for him, for a body and mind for so long starved of emotions. He’s become good, too good, at shutting down and the taste, the scent, the way Chibs lets him close, kisses back with an enthusiasm Juice couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams, completely overwhelming him and when Chibs’ mouth slips down, both of them sucking air and grasping for something, anything, to hold onto, there’s a soft sigh coming from the Scot, of a kind Juice doesn’t want to hear.  
  
”Juicyboy…”  
”Don’t. _Please, don’t._ Not yet. Let me… let me have this…”  
  
He’s shivering again, holding the man’s shirt hard enough to loosening the buttons stitches a bit because dear whatever God existing or not, but Juice has longed for, dreamt about, dreaded and never dared to hope for this moment, or even formed that longing into a thought close to this. It’s just been there, name- and shapeless, a consistant ache for something unnamable and far more dangerous than any Mayhem vote, a want bearing the shape of a this man.  
  
Chibs’ breath is hot against his forhead and Juice realises the man is kissing him there as well, practically nibbling his head and holy shit, they’re still so close together he can feel Chibs’ erection brushing onto his hip. Juice all but leaps into him, the strong, warm chest and those steady arms cradling his shoulders. He buries his mouth in the crook of Chibs’ neck, shaking and his lips are sore from the kisses. He finds the man’s earlobe, sinking his teeth into it and Chibs moans.  
  
”Jesus, Mary and Joseph, lad…”  
”Don’t… let go of me… Don’t let go, Chibby!”  
”I wont. I got ye. Not lettin’ go of ye, Juicyboy… I promise… I promise…”


	32. Chapter 32

He’s no fag. Has nothing against them and never had much understanding for that whole macho fag fearing shit talk. To each their own as long as there’s consent, but he’s never taken interest in a man before. Juice’s plea is difficult to interpret as a protest. The lad’s response to Chib’s momentarily lack of thinking is beyond him. The feelings he’s had for him havn’t even gotten into the spank bank because even that felt like a violation. Not primarly because of Juicy’s age, but because of the club and the fact that the kid sometimes has seemed younger than he actually is.  
  
But despite the scrawny frame, the paleness and weary eyes, despite the betrayal, the age gap and whatever shit standing between them, Chibs knows he’s never held a more beautiful human being in his arms like this. He loves him. He’s _in_ love with him and has been so for years, thousands of days with a thousand reasons not letting it show. Not to the boy, not to himself, not to anyone. Juice moans into his neck, hands restless but not shy or hesitating. There’ll be markings from his nails in Chibs’ skin, grass stains on their clothes and fact is he has no idea if anyone’s seeing or hearing them. He doesn’t care either.  
  
Juice’s kisses are desperate and shaky and when his breath starts to hitch, Chibs wakes up from his momentarily madness, realising the boy is about to burst in his seems and not in a good way. Chibs pulls away, just enough to get some space between them and Juice is panicking, silently with those big eyes wide open in a mixture of shock, want, fear and desperation. Not a good combo and Chibs puts his hands around Juice’s face, holding that stupid, fucked up head steady.  
  
”Juicyboy…”  
  
The kid swallows a sob and Chibs brushes his thumbs carefully against his temples.  
  
”Look at me, Juice.”  
  
He sounds stern but it helps. Juice looks up at him, the panic still frozen behind the glassy eyes but he’s listening. Chibs’ lips are sore, almost numb and he barely feels them when he speaks, low and calm.  
  
”We gotta stop this. Gotta pull ourselves together, lad, ’cause I’m not gonna have ye goin’ mad in public and I’m ol’enough this will gimme a bloody heart attack, aye. Aint wanna leave ye hear with’an old, fat, Scottish corpse. Aye, boy?”  
  
Juice nods and Chibs leans their foreheads together, not kissing him again or anything, just holding still and whispering nonsense with a soft voice, to calm the kid – and himself too, to be honest.   
  
”Not lettin’ go of ye, Juicyboy. Just… try an’ breathe slowly, aye?”  
  
Chibs is burning with shame, along with the other heat he shouldn’t have given in to. He wants to ask for forgiveness, begging Juice for it, for loosing control like this. He’s old enough to be the kid’s father and the part of his brain that reminds him of how age never stopped him or any of the other brothers with women far younger than them, wants to argue but this is not the time or place for that. Even if Juice had been ten years older it doesn’t matter. The kid is completely broken and alone, desperate for crumbles of anything close to kindness and a wish not having to die alone.   
  
He squeezes Juice’s neck gently, still whispering whatever calming words he can, telling the boy it’s gonna be alright, that he’s sorry, didn’t mean to loose control like that and it wont happen again. The last one could be a lie, Chibs doesn’t know, but he’s desperate to bring Juice out of this panic attack before it gets worse.  
  
”Can I hold ye, lad?”  
  
The lad answers by leaning into his chest immediately, hiding his face against him and Chibs cradles the head and strokes the now rock hard shoulders soft and steady in slow cirlcles. They’re on their knees, Juice has slipped off his lap and Chibs very carefully arranges them to sit next to each other so they can be close without getting into this insane loop again. He puts an arm around Juice’s shoulders and lets him lean onto his chest again, back to some kind of normal closeness, or at least one they’re both familiar to with each other from the time when they were still brothers. If it’s normal or not is a whole different question Chibs honestly doesn’t give a shit about now.


	33. Chapter 33

He’s crying again and Chibs lets him, doesn’t comment this time because what’s there to say? It’s not just this, the mad shit they just did, that Juice started and Chibs for some reson continued. That alone could’ve fucked up any Samcro member because it’s just not supposed to happen, even if you’re drunk and high and haven’t gotten laid for months and the nearest chick is a hundred miles away and you’re out of gas, porn and both your hands are broken so you can’t jerk off. Fucking a goddamn pitbull would’ve been more accepted. Unless you’re Tig, of course. There are always exceptions.  
  
If Chibs doesn’t want him dead now, after this shit, Juice doesn’t know what would. Not only is he a rat and traitor, a coward and prison bitch. He’s afraid to die alone, cries like a little girl and fucking… assaults a former brother, rubbing himself against him like some psycho fag.  
  
”Don’t know what I was thinking, Chibs… I’m so so…”  
” _I_ kissed _ye_.”  
  
Chibs sounds tormented and no wonder. Of course he must regret this, regret staying with Juice, being nice to him instead of bringing another rope and lead him to a thicker branch. Juice has never felt so pathetic in his entire life and that says a lot. He wishes he could just disappear or at least had the balls to get up and leave. Dying with dignity is impossible now, not to mention with help and why Chibs is still here, still being nice and not just beating him to a pulp and leaving is another madness.  
  
”I shouldn’t have done that, lad. Wasn’t righ’of me to… not after all that’s… all the shite tha’ happened. Christ, ye must hate me… Despise me for it… ’Cause I do.”  
”I know you’re no fag, Chibs.”  
”Ye think _tha’s_ what worryin’ me, Juice? If I’m a bloody fag or not? Jesus Christ, lad, I’m just’an old, fat Scot tryin’ to scrub some of the blood off from a club that turned into a fucking murder squad. Ye betrayed the club, yes, but I betrayed ye too and yet… ye’re here… It’s not _right_ , Juice.”  
”Then take me out…”  
”No!”  
  
The man barks it out and Juice involuntarily shivers. Chibs’ heart is pounding fast against him and Juice doesn’t know if he should move, just that he doesn’t want to. The Scot rubs a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated groan.  
  
”I… told ye to kill yerself, laddie. I should’ve talked to ye, should’ve looked out for ye… Was so obvious something wasn’t righ’ with ye but I had no idea…”  
”I was a rat.”  
”Aye, but I didn’t have the whole picture and I… I should’ve come visiting ye, at least, to tell ye when I found out ’bout Gemma and Tara, ’bout Clay and how… I didn’t know that bastard Tully was…”  
”Jax handed me over to him. Was my chance of coming back, but…”  
”He was supposed to kill ye either way…”  
”Jax wanted to clean up.”  
  
Juice wipes the last tears from his face, he feels calmer again. Talking about the past somehow feels easy now. There are no more lies or secrets, at no need for them. No Jax, Clay or Gemma to tiptoe around, no alliances, bonds or trusts to break. It’s just him and Chibs now, telling truths they should’ve shared from the very beginning.  
  
”Tully liked me. Not just… not only free ass. I don’t know, it sounds crazy, but he was almost… nice sometimes. I hated him but he didn’t want me dead and I couldn’t… I mean, I _could_ , but it didn’t feel right to…”  
”Try and end it on yer own?”  
”Something like that. I’m a coward, I know that, but whenever I’ve thought about… ending it, I only saw you screaming at me under that tree. I don’t know why, but I just can’t do it…”  
”So ye were gonnae let me do it?”  
  
The sadness in the Scot’s voice is almost unbarable to hear but Juice is already dead, or at least he should be if there was any logic in this fucking world, so he’s numb to the edge of it.  
  
”Guess I haven’t changed… Still a coward, still weak and no good on my own. Can’t even pull the fucking trigger...”  
”And I don’t want ye to. I know what I said, know how I felt at the time and I aint gonna excuse it, ’cause I didn’t know about Gemma or Clay, or Tara. I had no idea, lad… No idea… Had I known, Juice, I never should’ve called ye coward.”  
  
Chibs sighs, squeezing Juice’s neck again.  
  
”Ye betrayed us, boy. Betrayed _me_ and I’ll always feel the sting of it, don’t think otherwise but… knowin’ ye didn’t trust me enough to tell me, tha’ ye were alone and scared and rather would end yerself than talk about it… That’s not bein’ a coward, or weak… That’s just one person carryin’ around too much of other’s shite, without gettin’ any help or rest from it. Wasn’t yer burden to carry, Juicyboy. Not then, not now.”


	34. Chapter 34

Contrary to what most people think, showing emotions has never been a sign of weakness in Samcro. Jax pretty much impersonated that. If he was walking around with his heart on a sleeve, Juice has been the one desperately trying to hide them, with a mixed result. By never really getting close with anyone except Chibs, Juice might have been far more lonely than he would let people know. Chibs can’t recall Juice ever seeking out company just because he didn’t want to be alone, something both Ratboy, Half-Sack and Filthy Phil would do on occasion. Juice is a pack animal, too skittish to ever really trust the heard and that makes it even more sad.  
  
Chibs keeps holding and petting the lad, the only thing he feels able to do now. He kissed him and that’s only one part of a lot of messy shit they never should’ve stirred up. Too late for that now. Chibs is more than okay with hiding, but lying? No. Not even to a rat. That’s why he sends a prayer of thanks to the silence, offering a middle way.  
  
It wasn’t the eyes or even the damn near perfect body that drew him to the quiet prospect at first, but the smile. Juice took a long time to open up in any way, but he quickly became a very valuable resource by not only being a skilled mechanic and fearless fighter, never shying away from doing his part, but also being a tech pro, leading old dinos like Clay, Piney and Bobby into the 21th century so smooth it never seemed to have been any resistance at all. And when Jax, Opie and Chibs praised him for it, Juice gave the sweetest fucking smile, even blushing as he looked at Chibs and that was it even if Chibs didn’t realise how hard he’d fallen.  
  
The lad was shy with any physical contact that wasn’t necessairy and not even the crow eaters and hookers teased him about it. Juice never had a relationship and seemed to tolerate rather than encourage the girls, unlike other shy lads who mostly stuttered, blushed and then grinned once they’d taken the step. To Juice, it almost seemed like just another task to get through and be done with. And that sweet smile was miles away. Chibs doubts he’ll ever see it again. Not that he deserves it.  
  
”Didn’t mind it.”  
”What?”  
”Kissing you.”  
”Christ… Juice, I don’t know wha’ I was…”  
”Not complaining. You’re a good kisser.”  
  
There’s a smile in the voice, small but definately there and Chibs doesn’t know what to do with it, how to answer either the words or the soft voice. At least Juice has stopped crying but what good will that do if Chibs only makes him do it again. What a sick mess. Juice even smells soft. The scent is sweet and innocent, which is fucking bizarre thinking of all the people the kid has killed without hesitation or remorse, mostly for others. That’s the contrast, the thing that Chibs couln’t really understand. Juice isn’t a coward, he’s simply bad at carrying his guilt but still ready to take the risk.  
  
That’s the burden Juice wants to get rid of. Not the bad conscience or the guilt as such. He’s not making excuses for himself, just admitting he’s far too tired and alone to carry on anymore. Chibs knows that unless he asks Juice to be a part of his life again, the kid ultimately wont care if he’s going out as a coward. Pride only carries you so far and Juice hasn’t much left of that. He’s a sad, miserable wreck who’s done a whole lot of unforgivable shit, but looking at it from a wider perspective than Samcro’s, isn’t that the case for practically all of it’s members during the end of Clay’s and most of Jax’s reign?  
  
The murders, the schemes and betrayals. Even if Juice deserves to die or at the very least never being allowed near Samcro again, it still doesn’t change the fact that the kid was trying to survive in a near hopeless situation. If the leaders show a way of lies and backstabbing, letting their own agendas and emotions go before the club while dragging it’s weaker members down with them, how much hate and despise do those miserable bastards deserve for trying to survive the turmoil? Juice has never been more than a tool and although Chibs despises that, he understands it better now, when there’s some distance to it. How crushing a weight that must’ve been for the kid, surrounded by hawks rather than crows.  
  
More than anything, Chibs feels a deep sadness that Juice didn’t think he would have tried to help him, share that burden had he known. That, and the fact that he could’ve kissed him when it still mattered, but never did.


	35. Chapter 35

It must’ve been hours. Juice doesn’t open his eyes immediately, half-asleep still and snuggled into a familiar warmth and scent…   
  
”Chi-Chibby?”  
”Ye awake, laddie?”  
”Yeah… How… how long did I sleep?”  
”Coupla’ hours.”  
”Shit. Sorry, man.”  
”Don’t be. Ye needed it and ye’re no’ tha’ heavy. And Juice…”  
”What?”  
”If ye ask me to put ye down one more time, I might actually smash all yer teeth out and let Tig feed ye babyfood. Okay?”  
”Kay. Won’t ask.”  
”Good. Now… I still’ave a some days off, thanks to my understanding VP and I’d want to ask ye somethin’.”  
”Sure.”  
  
The older man lits a smoke.  
  
”How’d ye feel about… stayin’ with me for a while.”  
” _What?_ ”  
”T’is just a proposal, lad. Don’t have to sound like I asked ye to pay Happy a visit.”  
”Just unexpected as hell, Chibs.”  
”Aye, maybe… But ye’re making me worried, lad. I know ye have yer meetings and parole shite in Stockton on weeks but ye shouldn’t… be alone.”  
  
Juice, still crumpled from sleep, not to mention completely drained by the last days events, frowns and takes a smoke from Chib’s pocket.  
  
”You’re not kidding, are you?”  
”Never been more serious, Juicyboy. And before ye ask, this ain’t fucking for a sleeping place deal, alright? Just… don’t want ye on yer own right now. There’s no agenda, no fucking scheme or shite like tha’.”  
”And what about my banning from Charming?”  
”Live just outside, so…”  
  
His heart is skipping a beat and a thousand incoherrant thoughts are running wild inside him. Could this be a trap? What if Samcro finds out?   
  
”What if you get visitors?”  
”Can stay in yer room as well. That is, if yer land lady allows it.”  
”Don’t think there’s any rule about no boys on the room. But are you sure?”  
  
Chibs smiles through a cloud of smoke, stroking Juice’s head.   
  
”Aye. Gonnae look out for ye a bit, like I should’ve done.”  
”You did.”  
”Not enough. Not when ye needed it the most.”  
  
Juice wants to argue, but fact is, there’s some truth to it. And this weariness he feels, isn’t just about lacking energy, it’s far deeper than that and Chibs probably thinks this is a way of keeping Juice from doing something stupid. Again.   
  
Thinking of it, not having to sleep alone, knowing someone’s close, someone who knows more than his name, more than his record and past sins… He shivers, there’s not as warm in the park anymore and he feels stiff and in need for a stretch. He takes Chib’s hand, feeling the pressure back. Maybe the man regrets kissing him, touching him but he’s asking Juice to stay. Or to stay at his place.  
  
”Ye’d be be okay with tha’, Juice?”  
  
Juice isn’t good on his own. His head simply gets too loud and he’d rather hear Chibs barking or screaming at him, as long as it keeps his own thoughts silent. In fact, he’d very much like that, but he’s so used to pushing his wishes and wants aside to make it easier when they’re not fulfilled, the thought of having that kind of company, is just mind-blowing. He swallows hard and looks up at the man.  
  
”Miss Holland might start wondering.”  
”Yer land lady? She doesn’t like bikers?”  
”Actually, she’s single and closer to your age than me. She might wanna get to know you and your bike.”  
”I’ll behave then.”  
  
Juice just grins at that.  
  
”Sure you will.”  
”Ye know me, laddie. Always doin’ wha’ I can to keep the ladies happy.”  
  
Yeah, Juice knows. Good God, he knows.


	36. Chapter 36

To show the kid this isn’t about fucking, Chibs goes home to pick up some stuff, including a passable mattress, a toothbrush and then buying some early dinner. Juice looks just a little bit surprised he actually comes back – in a car. Chibs rarely drives it, but sometimes it comes good in hand and this is one of those times. Juice, of course, makes the mattress, obsessed as he is with clean sheets and neatly folded corners. Chibs just shakes his head at it as he unpacks the sandwiches, chips and some beer along with a club soda for Juice who, much as Chibs expected, doesn’t drink due to the meds.  
  
There’s a telly in the room too and Juice turns it so they can watch some stupid comedy show while eating. The kid hasn’t got much of an appetite these days, which isn’t surprising and he picks at the tuna mayo, only managing small bites of it at a time, that takes a long time to swallow. He arranges half of his portion of chips in a row on his plate, size ordered, shrugging with a little embarressed smile when Chibs notices.  
  
”Had to keep that in check while I was inside, so I guess I’m making up for lost time.”  
”Ye’re daft.”  
  
Chibs shakes his head but to be honest, it’s quite nice seeing a glimpse of the old Juicyboy again, even the OCD. The chips look like they’re standing to attention and the kid eats them one at a time, obliviously correcting the line whenever he happens to move it. Playing with the food, or rather keeping the anxiety in check.   
  
”Ye don’t have yer computor left?”  
”No. Have no idea what happened with my stuff, actually.”  
  
It doesn’t seem like he’s upset. Juice never really cared for other items than his bike, as long as they were kept in order. What he brought back from Stockton can’t have been much. Some clothes perhaps. Lots of scars and bruises. Chibs forces the worrying thoughts of what Juice most likely has endured in Stockton, from Tully and others, and tries to focus on the bad tv show and commercial breaks. It’s probably more than a little hypocritical to shift from wanting the kid dead to wonder how badly he was treated in prison and if he’ll be able to be himself again within this very short space of time, but the rules and principles Chibs is so fond of, simply wont apply here.  
  
Chibs lights a smoke while waiting for Juice to finish. When half of the portion the old Juice would’ve wolfed down within minutes it gone, the kid slowly presses a hand on his stomach, rubbing it while staring at the telly.   
  
”Nothing wrong with the food, Chibs. Just not a very big eater anymore.”  
”No, I can see tha’. Save the rest til’ later.”  
”Yeah… Thanks.”  
  
He raises from the bed to put the leftovers in the fridge and wash his hands. He leans on the sink and Chibs scrambles off the bed.  
  
”Ye’re okay, Juice?”  
”I’m fine. It’s just been a… strange fucking day, I guess.”  
”Not gonnae argue with tha’. Jesus Christ…”  
  
A small laughter leaves the kid and Chibs smiles too, puts a hand on his head and rubbing it fondly like he did when they were still brothers. Juice looks up with a tired and pained yet still relaxed expression on his face.  
  
”You realise I have no idea what we’re doing or how to deal with this, right?”  
”Aye. That makes two of us.”  
”You still… still wanna stay?”  
”Ye’re throwing me out?”  
  
Juice just shakes his head, the sad, exhausted little smile reminding Chibs far too much of the time when he knew something was wrong, just not what and the kid’s hopelessness could be mistaken for lost focus instead of the despair and fear it was. Since waiting outside the motel door for him to do something, nothing, anything about the kid that was supposed to be dead, Chibs has had some truly fucked up days. Juice’s experience probably has been way more so. He’s not let go of the head and slips down to the neck, squeezing it very lightly and Juice smiles again.  
  
”Most things, you know… They’ve been fucked up for me since, I don’t know, when shit went south with the club. When I fucked up, I mean, even before I betrayed you. I don’t… I don’t have a _normal_ anymore, Chibs. Not Samcro normal, not society normal. The last sence of normality I had was when I’d gotten used to be Tully’s bitch.”  
  
He takes a deep breath, sighing.  
  
”What I’m trying to say, Chibby, is that I’m essentially a wreck who really doesn’t give a shit about anything, because I can’t.”  
”Ye can’t?”  
”I have meds that work good enough. A shitty job, some appointments. I do as I’m told, you know, according to the parol terms, not causing anymore shit. And I’m… okay with that, I guess. I don’t really care enough to…”  
”Ye’re depressed.”  
  
Chibs rubs the stiff neck like he would comforting a brother and Juice lets him.  
  
”Ye forget I’m a medic, lad. Ye don’t think I see how tired ye are? Three years in Stockton after all the shit ye caused – and didn’t – with the club… It’s a bloody miracle ye’re not in the prison ground.”  
”More mistake than miracle.”  
”Ye want to die, lad? Not just not giving a shite, but really want to pull the trigger?”  
”I don’t know. Don’t think I care.”  
”Ye care if I’m here?”  
”Yes.”  
  
Chibs snorts and keeps squeezing Juice’s muscles. The kid relaxes, more than one would expect and it can’t just be about not giving a shit because he leans in to it, like a cat getting a good scratch. Not that he’s purring, but he seems to actually like it and Chibs refuses to acknowledge the strange pull of pride in his chest, ignoring it the way he does with all things soft, delicate or just heartwrenching, because you can’t live this kind of life if you’re distracted and vulnerable, like the kid in his arms. You have to tuck that shit away somewhere you have control over it. Or at least pretend you have.


	37. Chapter 37

It feels good. Juice’s old boundaries vanished a long time ago, including the feeling of having any say in what happens with his body and his muscles reacts with acceptance, welcoming. He knows these hands, knows how they can hurt or heal him and those memories are still clear enough to have him relax. It’s his natural response since Stockton and old habits die hard. Old love dies harder.  
  
He was grateful after a while. To Tully. It’s not as if a man without pride, friends, a home or even a place among the living has any higher demands. A rat who’s become a nazi’s ass pussy isn’t really one to have ambitions. When you’re that far down, a generous amount of lube, some poetry, spooning and protection from beating goes a long way. You just have to lower your expectations, preferably not having any at all. And Juice can’t remember not wanting Chibs to touch him. The casual hugs, kisses on head or slaps on the shoulders were always welcome, never intruding or uncomfortable. He’s not allowed himself to miss that, it would’ve hurt too much. Tully using lube and being careful, keeping other cons on distance and not openly humiliating him has been the closest thing to kindness and intimacy these last years. Compared to that, Chibs is a shock to his system. Familiar, and yet so goddamn strange.  
  
But it feels good. Kind. Chibs’ hands don’t rush or move in the wrong way. They stay on Juice’s shoulders, his neck and the back of his head. Rubbing, circling and occasionally squeezing. Juice doesn’t think the man will do any advances or try to persuade him to do something he’s not into. Chibs beats people, kills them when he finds it necessairy, but he’s not a rapist or a sadist and he’s definately not gay. The man simply loves women, respects them too and he’s a total tease when he’s in the mood, flirting like there was no tomorrow. What _this_ is to him, Juice barely dares to wonder in silence.  
  
They don’t say much and apart from taking a piss, making some disgusting instant coffee and have another smoke, nothing really happens either. After having separated for one or another of natures calls, Chibs holds his arm out in a wordless invitation Juice is helpless to resist. The need for comfort wins again, the confusion and whatever else that could or should stop him, has no chance. As long as Chibs allows this, offers it, Juice knows he wont be able to deny himself. The insane moment by the lake feels only marginally more fucked up than crying yourself to sleep in Chibs’ lap. Has it really only been two days? Feels more like two weeks.  
  
”Can I ask you something?”  
”Of course.”  
”It’s… I don’t mean to snoop or anything but, the club…”  
”I’ll have to get back to work in a day or two, if that’s wha’ ye’re askin’.”  
  
Juice swallows, hands starting to fidget a little.  
  
”What will you tell them?”  
”Tha’ I’ve been away for a ride as I said I would and tha’ I saw ye. That there wont be another Mayhem vote and ye’ve paid the price for yer betrayal already. Ye’re stayin’ out of Charming and out of the Sons’ way and so will they with ye. If they see ye in Stockton, they’re to leave ye alone unless ye’re gettin’ in our faces or wearin’ our mark.”  
”You think they’ll be content with that?”  
”Happy and Ratboy wont, but they wont _do_ anything, only bitch about it.”  
”And Tig?”  
”Believe it or not, but Venus has somehow softened him a wee bit.”  
”Venus? _That_ Venus?”  
”Very much doubt there’s more than one of her.”  
”You mean he… she, whatever and Tig are…?”  
”Aye.”  
”Holy shit…”  
  
The older man takes his hands in his own, stilling their nervous tics.  
  
”Things change. We sure as hell wont be wearin’ rainbow colors in any foreseeable future, but if anyone’s still into queer bashing, he’s not gonnae have an outlet for it in Redwood, I can assure ye.”  
  
Chibs suddenly laughs, shaking his head.  
  
”Last time a prospect let’is mouth loose when Venus came by the club, Chucky broke’is nose.”  
”Seriously?”  
”He’s fond of’er. And a little scared.”  
”She’s a… big girl.”  
”Aye. With an animal as her old man. But ye don’t have to worry, lad. Tig wont hurt ye unless I allow it. Which I don’t. Just keep a low profile, alright?”  
”Okay.”  
”And… uhm… If ye need anything, ye just call me.”  
”Yeah… alright.”  
  
The hands leave his own and he’s embarressed by how bad it feels. Since when did he become so fucking needy? And what the hell is Chibs really up to? Is there even any point in wondering?


	38. Chapter 38

The kid doesn’t mention it. Maybe he’s embarressed – Chibs sure as hell is – or just feels disgusted by it, a feeling Chibs doesn’t share. At least not for that reason. Just because you’re old and have a reputation to think about, it doesn’t mean you gotta hate or even feel grossed out by fags. Fooling around with another guy when no one sees doesn’t leave a fucking neon sign screaming faggot in pink letters over your head.  
  
It’s not the thought of what people who haven’t seen or heard shit might think of him shoving his tongue in another man’s throat. Chibs is fairly sure people have better things to do than thinking about whether or not Samcro’s pres might like dick. Which, for the record, he doesn’t. His own mental image of Juice’s hard cock pressed against him is a whole other thing to digest, mainly because it holds too many layers of different emotions Chibs can’t wrap his head around right now. He’s no less fucked up than the kid in that regard.  
  
There are a lot of excuses, one worse than the other, that Chibs can come up with to explain the impossible. Long time between the pussies, stress, rage, fucking surprise. Chibs almost laughs at how pathetic it sounds. And then there’s Juice. Chibs has no problem realising the kid probably has been a bitch for all his time inside and he’s seen stronger guys than Juice never being the same again after that experience. It’s not the idea of shit like that happening that makes him cringe. It sucks, but just as gun wounds, ugly scars and death threats from rivaling gangs, it’s part of what you may have to count on as a risk with this life. It just shouldn’t have happened to Juice.  
  
What happened at the park can’t happen again and that fairly innocent back rub and little embrace on the bed will be as close as they get, Chibs will make sure of that. And to be honest, it would’ve been the same was it a girl in this state. Chibs doesn’t fuck depressed, skinny bitches with a death wish, regardless of their sex and he wants his lasses ample, cheeky and head-on. The fact that Juice probably does this because he’s so used to _being used_ that way, regardless of his own wishes, is even worse than the rest of the kid’s personal little hell. He has nothing, absolutely nothing left but the determination not to die a coward’s death. Horrible as it is, there’s a freedom in it as well. Was it not, Juice never would’ve come back. He’d be on the run again and this is the opposite of that. Deathwish or not, there’s a kind of courage in it, the recklessness in it.  
  
Chibs’ thoughts are so far gone now, he doesn’t notice his own hands movements. That he’s letting Juice lean onto him again, one arm around the kid’s shoulders, the hand rubbing the upper arm gently. That his other hand is still holding the kid’s, brushing it’s knuckles absentmindly. Juice is warm and smells nice. The skin’s a bit stretched due to the weightloss, not much but it’s visible if you have a closer look. He’ll need to put some weight on and get those dark circles off his eyes but otherwise, he’s still… what? Pretty? Beautiful? Fucks sake… Nothing really seems to fit for neither the kid nor the situation. All labels somehow inadequate.  
  
It’s like they’re both trying to appear oblivious. Maybe it’s the only way to handle it, Chibs honestly has no idea anymore. He’s not sure of what he wants, definately not _why_ and he has absolutely no previous experience of a similar kind to guide him here. There’s just the silence, the now relaxed body against him and the unnamed tug in his chest that keeps coming back and decides to linger as long as he has Juice close. Whatever happened to not allowing hearts to be louder than reason? Mary, mother of God… the lad curls into him like a kitten, all soft despite the lack of fat and the skittish tension. Chibs brushes his lips over the head, kissing it because how can he not?  
  
Juice wants to be hold, melts into Chibs’ touches not with acceptance or confusion, but relief. At least that’s what Chibs thinks it is, the needy relaxation, the way he brushes against him, clearly longing for the closeness. And Christ almighty, but Chibs longs for it too so he lets his face be held between Juice’s palms, allows those slender fingers to follow the lines of his Glasgow smile, the small wrinkles and course beard, signs of an old man that he can’t understand what a man in his thirties can see anything but aging greyness in.  
  
The kiss is hesistant, a careful nibble, Juice’s lips are soft and dry and Chibs pulls back just enough so there’s space between their mouths, still feeling each others breaths. He wants to let Juice decide, set the pace and way because the kid is, or at least thinks he is, the most scared of them. It gets easier if Chibs thinks that, gives a small sence of leverage because he’s about twenty years older and has never felt like this for another man before in his life. Not even close.  
  
Chibs keeps his eyes closed, trying to relax, to… just fucking do it. A small, kittenish noise leaves Juice and Chibs feels a hand slipping up to his neck, pushing him closer and then, finally, he’s sure. No hesitation, no desperation as they slowly, finally slot together.


	39. Chapter 39

He doesn’t open his eyes, can’t seem to handle more impressions right now. The taste, the feeling of Chibs are just what he can muster. His kisses are slow, skilled and searching. The Scot is good at this, easily as good as any girl Juice has kissed and the scrape from the beard only adds to the heat. He doesn’t grope, doesn’t push, just keeps them both steady, holds his hands still instead of tugging at Juice’s clothes. When he slides away to nibble at his jaw and throat, Juice gasps, obliviously grabbing Chibs’ hair and the man lets out a small groan.  
  
”Careful, lad, aint got much of that hair left.”  
  
Juice giggles. Yes, fucking giggles, because this is just so damn weird and addictive, he’s mentally exhausted from the last days, more or less frayed and couldn’t care less about sounding like a fucking lunatic. He moves to turn around, straddling Chibs’ thighs to face him even if he can’t look yet. He nuzzles the other man’s nose, leaning foreheads together and silences his breathy giggles in Chibs’ mouth, swirling tongues together and the Scot nibbles Juice’s lower lip.  
  
He keeps kissing over his Adam’s apple, down to the collarbones and Juice drops his forehead onto the man’s hair, fingers shivering as he squeezes the neck, eliciting another moan from him. The Scot slides his palms all over his back, pressing him closer and Juice instinctively pushes his hips forward, partly anticipated, partly worried it might feel wrong, broke the fucked up moment and turn it into something ugly, but it doesn’t. He grinds against the hard shape of Chibs’ cock, trapped behind the jeans fabric and the man answers by grabbing Juice’s ass, pressing him even closer.  
  
It’s good. Far, far better than it should be. Juice keeps jerking his hips, feeling the slick wetness of precum in his pants, Chibs’ hard fingers digging into his ass, moving with him. Juice removes his hoodie, tugs at the t-shirt and the man helps him get it off, pulls his own shirt and wifebeater over his head and then there’s just skin. Warm, inked skin melting into Juice’s frame. Chibs pulls him close in a hug, nuzzling the side of his neck and sighs.  
  
”Sure ye want this, Juicyboy? I’m… I’ve never been with a man, lad.”  
”Me neither. At least not… well, by choice…”  
  
Fuck. Why did he say that? Juice regrets it instantly, because what kind of idiot mentions prison rapes in a situation like this? He’s prepared to be removed from Chibs’ lap, to see disgust in the brown eyes.  
  
”Juicyboy… Look at me.”  
  
Chibs cups his chin and Juice reluctantly meets his gaze. It’s dark as pepper, almost as dark as Tully’s, but there’s nothing but warmth and kindness in it. Nothing reminding of a predator but memories are hard to control and Juice has felt like a prey for so long. Chibs strokes a thumb over his lip.  
  
”I’m not gonna hurt ye, Juice. I’d never…”  
”I know.”  
  
He doesn’t want to hear more words because they both already know what Chibs means. That he’s not Tully and Juice isn’t his or anyone’s bitch.  Juice swallows, doesn’t want to show more weakness but the stakes are too high not to. He closes his eyes, grabs for Chibs’ hand and presses it to his chest.  
  
”Hands… mouths. Nothing more. I… I…”  
”Ye don’t have to explain, Juice. And ye decide. Don’t think my life experience helps with this one.”  
”True IRA didn’t teach blowjobs?”  
  
Chibs laughs and Juice gives him a cheeky grin when the man shakes his head.  
  
”Jesus Christ…”  
  
Juice doesn’t give him more time to speak but simply starts working on Chibs’ fly and buttons with one hand, using the other to move Chibs’ hand to his own throbbing erection. The man hisses as Juice takes his cock and starts stroking it, slow, long moves, smearing the precum over the shaft. He jerks it lazily as Chibs worms his hand inside Juice’s pants and shorts. He’s so hard it aches, insecurity and anticipation adding to the sense of rawness, of laying bare in a new way he’s not sure how it will end.  
  
They stroke each other, Juice using his position to buck up into Chibs’ callous fist like he was fucking and the man’s lips are partly opened, eyes shut as Juice jounces on his lap. They don’t kiss, just keep their foreheads together, panting and grunting. Chibs’ cock is warm and uncut, leaking when Juice rubs the head with his thumb while thrusting into the man’s hand.  
  
It doesn’t take them long to finish. They’re both practically boiling with a mixture of stress, confusion, pent-up and in desperate need of release in any way possible. Juice moves faster, fucking Chibs’ fist in earnest, squeezing his shoulder to have something steady to hold onto. He comes hot and hard over the man’s belly, hissing and cursing and Chibs tightens Juice’s grip around his own cock, stripping it fast with both their hands until the man bucks up his hips and holds their hands still, like a vice around his cock and then he comes, groaning low and primal before slumping against Juice’s shoulder, breathing heavily into his neck.


	40. Chapter 40

He needs a drink. Or ten. It’s not really that late, but Chibs thinks he could fall asleep as he is. If he got those drinks. Wouldn’t say no to a joint either. The kid has slipped off his lap and taken to the bathroom, getting the cum off his belly. Jesus Christ… Chibs fumbles in the pocket of his abandoned shirt and finds his cigarettes. He lights one, smelling Juice on his still a bit sticky fingers, or if it’s himself.   
  
He’s knackered, sore from where Juice has tugged hard, left little scrapes from his nails left on the inked skin and he uses his already messy shirt to wipe off the worst, tucking himself back in his jeans as he sucks on the smoke. The neatly made mattress looks accusingly at him from the floor. _This is not about fucking._ Right. Technically, they didn’t fuck. Depends on how you see it but Chibs has never really been good at lying to himself. Sees through his own bullshit easy enough if he takes time to it and he’s just had a damn good handjob, embarressingly short as it lasted.  
  
”Want a beer?”  
  
Juice stands in the bathroom door, looking as if he’s unsure whether it’s safe or not to come out. He’s redressed, the only traces of their madness being the hickey on his collar bone, partly covered by the t-shirt. Chibs nods.  
  
”Aye, sure.”  
  
He’d prefer a bottle of scotch but the kid was never a big drinker and he’s out on parole so there’s probably no strong shit here. Juice takes two beers out from the fridge, hands Chibs one and then sits down next to the bed, on the floor. Chibs opens the bottle and takes a sip. It’s cheap and not very strong but anything cold goes now. Juice lits himself another cigarette, smoking it slowly, starring right forward at nothing or maybe the ugly, grey rug by his feet.   
  
”Ye’re alright, lad?”  
”Yeah.”  
  
The kid scratches his arm and blows out some smoke.  
  
”Aint gonna tell anyone, if you’re wondering.”  
”Ye even have anyone to tell?”  
  
Fuck. Way to go, pointing out how lonely he is but Juice just shrugs.  
  
”Doubt my boss or parole officer are interested. And we were fairly quiet so Miss Holland probably didn’t hear us, not unless she had her ear pressed to the door. Don’t worry, Chibby. No one will know you got off with a rat.”  
  
There it is again. The empty voice, like it doesn’t matter to him. Like what they just did doesn’t matter at all and it’s not been two days since he asked Chibs to kill him. Truth be told, this kind of indifference is chilling and makes Chibs feel… tricked? More like stupid and ashamed. Of himself, the lack of control he’s shown and Juice’s pathetic behavior. That Juice thinks he can predict Chibs’ feelings and actions so easily when Chibs doesn’t know them himself. It’s a way of sneaking off, barricading against weakness and also fucking cowardly.  
  
”Ye did this to make me put ye down?”  
”No.”  
  
Juice suddenly looks annoyed, a small wrinkle between his eyes and he takes another draw on his smoke, ignoring the ashes falling on the rug.  
  
”I didn’t exactly plan on this, Chibs. It happened and it’s fucked up but I don’t regret it. S’been a long time since I actually felt much at all and I have no club, no inmates, no cops, guards or gangs to bend over for anymore in any way.”   
”Ye’re saying I have no power over ye, or what?”  
  
The kid shrugs again.  
  
”No. You just don’t have the upper hand. No one really has.”  
”Then what stops ye from using this against me? To cause problems for the club?”  
”Because I already fucked up once, being too stupid to realise I could’ve handled it another way without hurting the club or myself. Or you. Aint got nothing to gain causing problems. I’m just grateful you let me see you again.”  
”So ye did this out of… gratitude?”  
  
Chibs isn’t really sure what’s stopping him from smashing Juice’s face. He’s kicked the coward’s ass around the garage, told him to kill himself and indeed wished him six feet under for what he did. The pain that betrayal caused has been greater than anything Clay, Jax or Gemma did. It’s been felt on a different level, another kind of heartbreak that goes beyond disloyalty to the club, friends or family. It’s about not being trusted, that Juice could’ve stopped it just by talking to Chibs.   
  
”Ye’re usin’ me as a fuckin’ comfort blanket, s’that what ye say? That ye wont tell because ye managed to make me feel sorry for ye and get off with ye?”  
”I wont tell anyone because I still love you.”  
”Fuck ye, Juice.”  
  
Chibs starts collecting his shit because promise or not, he’s not staying. And if he does, he’ll probably beat the shit out of Juice and you can’t hide that from the neighbors or the landlady. Juice doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even say anything, he just watches Chibs getting ready to leave. Chibs doesn’t talk either, afraid he’ll start something that could end ugly. He goes to the door, ignoring the mattress he brought with him and gets his boots back on. Juice bits his lip.  
  
”Just because I don’t give a shit, doesn’t mean I’d trick you into killing me. Or getting off with me. I _asked_ you, Chibs. I didn’t force you.”  
  
He can’t stand this, can’t come up with a good answer so Chibs just opens the door, leaving without another word.


	41. Chapter 41

Chibs doesn’t come back and Juice pretends he doesn’t wait. Instead he tucks the last days madness, from the moment Chibs showed up by his door, to the sight of him grabbing his cut and boots before walking out, away. He’s become good at that, hiding shit that threatens to make him feel too much. Doesn’t help thinking or feeling about things you can’t change anyway and Juice hasn’t had any kind of hope for anything but a good death so it shouldn’t be that hard to shove a couple of days with Chibs away.  
  
As Juice gets up in the mornings, has his meager breakfast, brushes his teeth and makes his bed, he only focuses on the immediate things laying ahead: walking to the grocery shop, saying good morning and clocking in, putting the stupid little company vest on and take the list with costumers for the day. He makes himself small, invisible as a tool no one really pays attention to because after all, that’s how he survived Stockton. He tries not to think of Tully, the only steady company he had since betraying the club and how the acceptance made the con almost sweet to him, how the starvation of any real friends or family made Juice pliable and grateful.  
  
He forces Chibs out the same way he’s shoved other painful memories away. Not denying them, he’s never been good at denial, but putting them into a sort of safe space in his mind where they can’t suddenly attack him.  
  
He deserves it. All of this, it’s part of his rightful punishment for all the betrayal. He’s a traitor, a coward and a prison bitch. He may not be anyones asshole anymore, only a pair of hands and feet delivering better peoples organic tomatos and wholemeal bread to their healthy, cosy family dinners but the difference isn’t that great. Juice sometimes wonders if the people, the at least appearingly good citizens of Stockton, sees through the mask and catch a glimpse of the trash beneath. Is it visible, all the blood he has on his hands? The violence, the crimes, the rapes and the rest of his ugly background. Does it shine through, that he’s a drop-out, a runaway, a coward and a fucking rat?  
  
His parol officer continues being surprised that Juice’s drug tests remain negative, that Mr. Gerrison has no complaints and that Juice hasn’t tried to swallow all his antidepressants in one go or sold them on the street. Maybe it’s disappointment too. It’s never fun to be proven wrong.  
  
Chibs stays out of Juice’s mind until he’s done with work and done helping Miss Holland cleaning. As expected, the packed dinners start having gaps every now and then. No wonder, because cooking for two is more work, isn’t it? And maybe the cleaning isn’t worth that nice food. The woman takes him for granted, Juice gets that, but it doesn’t matter. At least there’s someone needing him for something and the exhaustion helps keeping Juice calm.  
  
Every night when he’s had his food package and is done cleaning the rooms, he puts the telly on and watches the most mindless shit he can find while laying puzzles. He’s bought a bunch of them on retail from the small amount of cash he has once the food and meds are paid for and during his lonely evenings as he waits for the clock to reach bedtime, he’s sitting on the floor in the strictly clean and neat room, putting ugly and stupid pictures of flower bouqets, capital cities and landscapes together. His head starts throbbing after a while, he sees prickles and gets sore in his crouched position but it keeps the memories away. With an almost inhuman discipline, Chibs’ hands and mouth, the distinct voice and the words, sweet as well as harsh and unforgiving, are kept at bay.  
  
When Juice finally is exhausted enough to go to bed, the Scot is merely a shadow and if he’s lucky, Juice is too tired to cry other than in his sleep. He can accept that because it’s hard to keep control in your sleep and no one ever called Juice smart, but he’s not a complete moron and when he wakes up from the alarm and sun, his face is sticky and his eyes are sore. Then he rinses them, reminding himself he’s already dead before starting the same day all over again.


	42. Chapter 42

He knows he’s acting strange. It doesn’t take a Tig to know that, it’s prefectly enough to see Chucky jump out of Chib’s way like he’s about to run him over, if only using his feet for it. Chibs very rarely is the source of that kind of mood, but rather the one trying to calm it, to make more hot-tempered members cool off and not causing unnecessairy destruction. He’s the one pointing out the necessity of keeping focused and not loosing the big picture. Nothing about Juice, absolutely nothing at all, fits into that picture.  
  
Since Juice went to Stockton and even more since the mayhem vote on Jax, Chibs’ main goal has been to keep the club, and by that himself together. No more hiding, plotting or getting into heat without real reason. Never taking any decision off the table. Samcro is a more of a club now than it’s been in years, closer to John’s ideal than Jax could ever take it. Chibs suspects the family bonds that made John rethink his life and write the book, in the end had to be sacrificed too for that dream to come true. Or at least starting to become.  
  
Samcro and Teller-Moore aren’t entirely legit yet. Chibs knows the value of patience Jax never had and he’s got no old lady to push or pull him in either direction. Sure, there are women around, Chibs’ bed hasn’t been all empty, far from it, but he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep and he sure as hell uses protection because the last thing he needs, is another child. Fiona would cut his dick off if that happened. It’s bad enough he wasn’t there for Kerrianne. No, patience is a virtue and Chibs is more than relieved there are no intervenings from old ladies now – or old men for that matter. The amount of heat Clay, Gemma, Jax and Tara caused with their family secrets is enough for several clubs and lifetimes.  
  
Sometimes when Chibs sits at the office, just going over the numbers with Chucky, he realises the chance that he’ll get a call about an explosion or gunfire going out of hand has decreased to something close to non-existant. Their illegal businesses are decreasing but of course there’s no working with the cops and little by little, Chibs has sourced out Samcro’s more risky shit to the highest bidder among other gangs, all of it openly by the table, of course.  
  
It’s a slow and tedious work, lonely too despite the lack of secrecy. The club still has the long trips, the parties and family gatherings, charity stuff and there’s always lots of work to do in the garage, prospects to keep an eye on and an endless stream of people from other charters, clubs, the towns business owners or law inforcement and politicians who’re constantly pulling at Chibs from all directions. It’s not as if he’s not busy. In the evenings, if he’s not out riding or there’s a party going on that requires the presence of the president, he often sits down with T.O. or Ratboy, having drinks and on occasion playing some cards or pool, but mostly they’re just talking bikes, women and engage in idle chit-chat, usually ending up discussing tits and pussy.  
  
The crow eaters hanging around aren’t as tempting as they usually are and Chibs more than well knows why, wishing his Scottish arse to hell for the amount of stupidity he’s allowed himself into and not seem able to forget about. One night, almost three weeks since seeing Juice – no, he’s not been counting! – Chibs finds himself sitting outside the club house, resting his suddenly sore fucking ears from the noises of drunken brothers and loud crow eaters having one of their usual drunken gatherings. That’s a decision he soon regrets, since his own thoughts no longer are drowned in the boisterous sound. They’re circling over the something else, not like crows but vultures, waiting for the pray to stop moving. For a little, broken heart to give in for the inevitable and stop beating.  
  
”Good evening, Mr. Telford.”  
  
That soft, singing voice can only belong to one person and Chibs’ looks up.  
  
”Hello, Venus. Lost Tig somewhere?”  
”Oh, Alexander is getting me a drink.”  
  
Chibs snickers.  
  
”Of course he is.”  
”What about you, love?”  
  
Venus takes up a cigarette and Chibs knows the drill, lighting it for her as he would any of the other old ladies because well… she’s a man but still Tig’s old lady and that’s how it’s been for a couple of years now. Chibs isn’t entirely sure why she’s accepted, if it’s due to Tig’s reputation, Chibs well-known tolerance as long as the club runs smoothly or simply because Venus is a person that doesn’t take any bullshit, no matter how sweet and gentle her voice is.  
  
”You look like you’ve lost a little more than just your party mood, darling. You need a little Venus love?”  
”Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t plan on letting Tig cut my balls off. And either way, ye’re just too ladylike for me. Prefer my lasses a bit more rough around the edges.”  
”Oh, I understand, Mr. Telford.”  
”Chibs.”  
”Sorry, Mr. Telford, but a lady has to maintain a certain manner among gentlemen.”  
”Ye’re in the Sons’ club house, sweetheart. Not exactly the place where to look for gentlemen.”  
  
Venus just gives him one of her brilliant smiles.  
  
”Oh, you have _no idea_ , Mr. Telford. Some of you could easily fit in the finer salons. Just need a little help with some… outer things.”  
”Aye, maybe ye could try and fit Tig into a tuxedo.”  
”Don’t tempt me, darling.”  
  
She winks at him and Chibs shakes his head, suddenly laughing. Venus takes another blow on her smoke and sits down beside him, legs neatly crossed.  
  
”Not that I want to snoop around, love, but I can’t help but wondering if your, how should I put it... unusually _dull_ mood of lately, may have something to do with a certain… little former friend of yours I spotted in Stockton the other day?”  
  
Chibs is only momentarily worried before he remembers Venus actually was the one seeing Juice first of all. She’s a very discrete lady, in her own way, and Chibs knows she would keep almost any secret as long as there’s enough trust and friendship – or payment – between them. The tall lady puffs at her smoke.  
  
”I’ll take that grave silence of yours as a yes, Mr. Telford. And before you ask, Alexander hasn’t been talking any club secrets with me, I’m just a very intuitive person.”  
  
_That’s_ a fucking understatement.  
  
”What’s yer point?”  
”My point, darling, is that the night is still young and Stockton aint far away. What happens on the road stays on the road, isn’t that the way you boys deal with… delicate things?”  
  
Big, weary, childish eyes. Stupid tattoos, marbled skin and cracked bones. Fucked up Glasgow smiles and Scottish hearts. Delicate things hidden beneath leather, healed wounds and loyalty that can’t be compromised by an old longing for something more. Unless you’re a five feet ten transgender woman in spiky heals and flawless make-up who makes her own rules and breaks them whenever she feels like it. Nothing delicate about Venus at all.  
  
Chibs sighs.  
  
”Well… thanks for yer… advice, Venus. I’ll think about it.”  
”I’m always helping Alexander’s friends, Mr. Telford. And I’m silent as the grave.”  
  
Which should suit Tig more than fine, Chibs thinks before he pats the big lady’s shoulder and heads towards his bike. He’s had enough of his brothers, their old ladies and the crow eaters tonight. That, considering it’s Chibs, is fucking strange too.


	43. Chapter 43

He’s letting his hair grow again because now there’s no Tully who has a say about his pet, only costumers who stares too much and Juice is shy, hates the lingering looks on his tattoos now as he’s not a part of anything anymore. Just a punk ass rat who’s delivering food and has stopped taking his meds, lying through his teeth to the doc who has other, far more important patients to give a shit about some depressed ex con on parole.  
  
Juice knows his medical records speak about rapes, assault, depression, panic attacks and God knows all he got during his time in Stockton. The doc and whatever nurse doing the drug tests always look at him as something contagious and they don’t know half of it, but of course there are never any questions.   
  
Chibs guessed it although he didn’t say anything, but he’s been inside himself a lot and knows it’s hardly something you mention even to your closest friend and certainly not to someone you’ve been like a brother to but not anymore. Before Tully claimed Juice as his bitch and no one elses, a couple of other cons and even guards had their way with him. The difference between them and the nazi shot caller, was the roughness. While the former would make Juice bleed and bruised up, Tully could be a bit rough but never deliberately harsh.  
  
Juice remembers more than one occasion when he had nightmares or just cried himself to sleep and Tully, without ceremonies, would let him rest in his lap while reading to him. And as the sad, pathetic bitch he was, Juice would be a little bit soothed, feeling just slightly less lonely and disgusting because Tully didn’t mock him for his weakness or let other cons get their way with him. He liked the stupid head tattoos, used to pet them even and by letting his hair grow back a little, Juice feels like he’s covering up a bit more of his past. Not that he’s fooling himself. He’s still a rat, a bitch and just a general depressing bastard. With or without stupid head tats.  
  
This night after work and report, as he’s almost back at the room he refuses to call home, walking slowly because he’s not in a hurry, a low yet demanding sound coming from behind him, momentarily pops his bubble. His heart even skips a beat, as if he’s still afraid of getting wounded, but there’s no MC man, no robber, gang or even nosy cop following him. It’s a kitten. A skinny, orange kitten mewling pathetically. Juice stops, turns around and the creature walks right up to him, squeaking. Juice has never really cared much for animals, but he squats on the sidewalk.  
  
”Hey there…”  
  
The kitten is stupid enough to decide Juice is friendly, stroking itself against his calfe, altering between meowing and purring. Juice lets it sniff on his hand before petting it carefully.  
  
”Lost your mom and dad, huh?”  
  
Mewl, purr, more shameless stroking against him. It’s quite skinny and there’s no sign of any siblings or mom. Poor thing. Before thinking about on what scale of stupidity this is on, Juice lifts the poor thing up and puts it inside his hoodie. Surprisingly enough, it seems to like it, doesn’t fight or claw but actually purrs and Juice decides to keep it there for now, because why not. It’s small, light and doesn’t hate, despise or pity him. He quickly walks to the closest drug store where the owner looks suspiciously at the lump in his hoodie.   
  
”It’s a cat.”  
  
He opens up a little and the man behind the counter just laughs and Juice closes the hoodie again.  
  
”You have any tuna?”  
  
With the amused laughter still ringing in his ears, Juice leaves the place with three cans of tuna and a bag of cat sand. That means he’s more or less out of money until next measly payment but who cares. He’s got noodles and oates and for now a small, warm ball of fur he carefully manages to sneak inside his lonely room without getting caught. He’s seen people here with dogs so pets probably aren’t forbidden but he suspects taking a stray kitten in on impulse, might not be popular.  
  
After closing and locking his door, he sinks down to open the hoodie and let the scrawny little thing out.   
  
”Welcome home, or whatever… You hungry?”  
  
The tiny mewl could mean that or let me out of here you asshole and Juice opens the can, the sound of the opener causing the kitten to stroke against him, purring and meowing and Juice puts it on a small plate on the floor.   
  
”There you go, buddy. Dig in.”  
  
He sinks down beside the starving animal, who’s digging into the tuna like it’s never seen food before. The room almost feel like there’s a little life in it. A heart beating inside it again, one that can’t judge Juice by anything than whatever kindness he’s able to show it. It’s probably not more than a pound, but it’s someone that doesn’t hate him.


	44. Chapter 44

_We can’t allow our hearts to be louder than reason._ A clear rule. Not easy, perhaps, but clear. That’s what Chibs always thought, at least. If everyone tries to follow their hearts in every situation, chaos will follow and Chibs may be a man of mayhem, but there’s a fucking limit and it’s been crossed enough for a lifetime with the Tellers and Moores. Under Chibs’ leadership, there’s been calm to a point of boredom but everyone, even Tig, have seen the need for it.  
  
Turning illegal business legit and profitable hasn’t been easy and some nights when Chibs closes the books and calculations feeling like he’s forgotten who he is and what the purpose with this calm life was. More often than not, he finds himself wondering what John and Jax would say if they were here, if any of them knew how tedious and completely unromantic tax columns and insurance papers make the freedom from violence, house searches and the threat of prison time feel.  
  
He’s getting e-mails, texts and sometimes even photos from Wendy and Nero. Surpringsly, they seem to have become quite the little family on that ranch, with Nero’s kid Lucius and Abel and Thomas. Wendy’s completely clean and, judging by the photos, thriving in her new role as country side mom. The boys look healthy and happy as well and although it hurts a little being reminded of Jax, Tara, Thomas and Gemma in the boys’ faces, it also feels good to get a little life sign from them every now and then. To his surprise, Chibs even found he had the time to see his own girls more than once, both Fiona and Kerrianne, the first years after Jax’s death. They can’t see each other that often due to Fiona’s position in True IRA, but that’s fine with Chibs. Kerrianne is a smart lass and knows what kind of lives her parents live. At least they’re keeping in touch every week.  
  
All this is good. Tedious, but good. The important thing is to not let the emptiness you’re bound to feel after so many deaths and turning points bring you down. Chibs has never been sentimental and has known death and departures as a normal part of life since he was a kid. There are no guarantees and if you’re to not only survive but actually live this life without going mad, you can’t afford to be soft.  
  
Stockton is far too close. Venus’ words stay in Chibs’ mind and every morning he decides he’s not thinking about Juice, not today, without realising that trying not to think of someone, kind of is exactly like thinking of him.  
  
_I wont tell anyone because I still love you._  
  
Juice is a stupid kid. A coward, a traitor and a weak, sad bastard. Even if the club would’ve forgiven him – which they wont – or he’d become one of them again – fucking heresy – whatever Chibs feels still doesn’t matter. It didn’t then and it doesn’t now. Even if Juice wasn’t all of that, if the past was different, it still wouldn’t work. The reason Tig can be open with Venus is because Tig has always been the odd figure, able to be a freak without stepping outside too much. The club can be surprisingly accepting but if it comes out that the pres, the pussyloving Scot, has been rubbing cocks with a pardoned traitor, all the progress they’ve made since Jax died, will come to pieces.  
  
No, letting hearts grow larger than reason isn’t good, but it’s not always clear when it does. What about the situations where the reasonable thing would be to listen to that irritating muscle instead of shutting off? There’s no reason to ride a bike that’s larger than the hearts desire to do it. If reason controlled the heart, Samcro wouldn’t exist and Chibs would’ve been a responsible Scottish dad in Belfast with Fiona and Kerrianne, doing some bluecollar job, paying bills and drown his sorrows at the local pub.  
  
That’s reason and also death to someone who loves the freedom more than safety. Fiona would’ve committed murder after a week, Chibs being the obvious victim. How’s that for reason controlling the heart? Chibs snickers to himself, as he’s turning off the computor and sees the numbers and columns disappear for the night. He takes his cut and sunglasses, turns the light off and locks the door. He’s still not sure if reason will prevail.


	45. Chapter 45

”Hey, Dyna! You missed me?”  
  
Loud purrs, tail straight up and vibrating at the tip, headbuffs on his legs. Yep, the little creature seems to have missed him and even if it could be just because she’s being fed regularly, it makes Juice almost happy. He hurries to fill up with fresh water and food as Dyna keeps ”talking” to him with sounds that most likely all are on the theme _feed me now, human, I’m starving_. Juice can’t help but smile a little as the tiny head dives into the bowl and he sinks down beside her.  
  
”Guess you just missed the food, huh? You had a nice day here, sleeping or whatever?”  
  
Dyna is good company. Undemanding and ignorant of all the things to hate about Juice. Except for a couple of accidents, she’s practically houseclean too, uses the litter box really well and there’s not been any complaints about noises or smells or anything from neighbors or Miss Holland. Juice takes a look around the small room, making sure there are no big scratch marks but this little kittie hasn’t very big claws yet. He should get her a scratching post or maybe he could make one himself. Juice doesn’t want the cat to go outside for a lot of reasons and she needs stimulance.  
  
By going home at lunch break, Juice is able to give her a little more company but she always looks a bit sad when he leaves so soon. Coming home in the evenings doesn’t feel as heavy anymore, as the tiny furball keeps him company.  
  
Juice remembers he’s not had his own dinner and he puts the box with chicken, rice and peas in the microwave. It’s one of Miss Holland’s dishes, well-balanced and tastes good but Juice still has to push himself to finish even half of it. His appetite has plummeted through fucking floor lately and he’s probably lost weight. A tiny mewl breaks through his depressing thoughts as he sees Dyna sitting by his feet, looking up at him.   
  
”You already finished?”  
  
Purr.   
  
”You’re full?”  
  
Loud purr, stroking his calves. Juice smiles. Full in theory, but there’s always room for a nibble of whatever the human eats.   
  
Juice takes his diner box along with a fork, a napkin and a bottle of soda to the bed and puts the telly on. Dyna jumps up too, staring shamelessly at the chicken and Juice gives her a small piece of it.  
  
”You’re spoiled, you know that right?”  
  
Probably not and if she did, she’d find it completely in order. What good are humans for, if not spoiling cats? At least it’s a far easier task than keeping other humans pleased.  
  
Juice eats slowly, focusing on the boring rerun of some sitcom he never laughs at, and Dyna munching on the treat. He manages to finish exactly half of the meal, depending on how to count the pieces of chicken disappearing in Dyna’s mouth and Juice puts the box away to start the most depressing part of his day: waiting for the kind of weariness that will lead to sleep. Dyna keeps him company though, curled up on his lap and it’s soothing, make it feel just a little less dead inside him.   
  
This is the time when he has no one to put up a neutral and friendly face towards until morning. Now he can be broken, ugly and hopeless, living dead inside in peace, hidden away from judging eyes and taunting reminders of the past. It’s part of his everyday routine now, the absence of people interacting with him for any other reason than necessity. It’s a relief to put the mask away but since he brought Dyna in, Juice also finds himself crying a lot and that’s upsetting, because dead men don’t cry and he has no defences when he’s exhausted from a day of pretending.  
  
He’s not even sad, it’s not as if he’s sitting here thinking of shit, he’s just tired and bad at being on his own. So bad that he needs a stray cat and even misses Tully sometimes because missing Chibs or any of his former friends would be far too painful. Yes, Juice is painfully aware of his loneliness and who’s fault it is, his own and no others. That’s why the knock on the door and the low, familiar voice following it doesn’t make him neither relieved nor afraid, not even puzzled. He raises from the couch, too tired to find out if he feels anything at all.


	46. Chapter 46

”Don’t scare her.”  
  
Chibs just stares at the kid in the doorway, not sure what to say. Juice looks like hell and holds a… fucking cat in his hoodie.   
  
”You’re coming inside or what?”  
”Ye have a cat…?”  
”No, a fucking mountain lion.”  
  
Juice simply turns around and Chibs steps inside and closes the door, still a bit dumbstruck. He’s never seen the kid cuddle with animals before but the orange creature peeking up from the hoodie looks quite comfortable where it is.  
  
”What do you want, Chibs?”  
  
Jesus. No spilling time on idle talking, not that Chibs is surprised by that. Juice looks extremely tired and about as hopeless as last time. The only difference is the cat, looking suspiciously from it’s place under Juice’s hoodie. Chibs sighs.  
  
”I… Guess I’m sorry, kid. For… well, ye know…”  
”Tea?”  
”Sorry?”  
”You want some tea?”  
”Uhm… Aye… I mean, that… ye’ve got _tea_?”  
”Special offer at work. Tastes slightly less shitty than my coffee.”  
  
Without waiting for further answer, Juice puts some water on the hob and takes down the two cups from the shelf. The cat is still perched on his frame. Chibs looks at her.  
  
”Is that allowed? ”  
”Don’t know.”  
  
Chibs can’t help but screening over Juice’s body and the lad frowns as he puts two cheap teabags into the cups.  
  
”Yes, I’m still skinny and no, I’m not suicidal. Her name’s Dyna, by the way.”  
”Who?”  
”The mountain lion.”  
  
The mountain lion seems very unimpressed by Chibs, clearly judging him from her elevated place on Juice’s shoulder, where she’s climbed up to have a better view at the unwelcome guest.  
  
”Look, Juice… I’m…”  
”Please…”  
  
Juice has his back turned, almost leaning over the cups as he waits for the water to boil.   
  
”I’m tired, Chibs. If… If you wanna talk, you’ll have to wait a minute, or I’ll spill the water and scare Dyna. There’s an empty jar on the window sill if you wanna smoke.”  
”Ye sure ye want…”  
” _Please_ , Chibs. Just fucking wait.”  
  
No one’s ever accused Chibs of being impatient and no kid with stupid head tats will be the first to do so. Chibs lits a smoke, mostly to have something to keep him a bit occupied while trying not to stare at Juice’s thin form, the slow and tense movements speaking more of exhaustion than fear. It startles a longing for comforting the lad again, for pulling that scrawny loneliness close and warm it up a little. Chibs suspects though, it wont be welcome this time and why should it.   
  
Minimal as it is, Juice has some sliver of pride left and Chibs may be an asshole, but he’s not taking that away from the kid. Especially not with that kitten glaring at him. Jesus Christ, that look almost reminds him of Fiona. She’ll probably attack him if he comes closer. Juice’s behavior is more than a little worrying and Chibs can’t do what he could do a few weeks ago, the kid clearly shutting him out, no longer careless about showing weakness. That should be a good sign though, but it’s not. Chibs feels shut out and the fact that he deserves it doesn’t make it any easier.  
  
All he can do is watching Juice pouring the hot water in the cups and light a smoke for himself. Dyna jumps down with a low purr but stays close Juice’s leg, like she’s guarding him. Chibs clearly isn’t welcome.


	47. Chapter 47

Dyna is suspicious which makes Juice smile a little. She makes his life, pitiful as it is, a little easier and the way she glares at Chibs, suggests she’s ready to attack if necessairy. Juice pets her as she kneads her paws into his shoulder. This little furball currently is the one thing giving him even a remotely sense of steady ground now and he needs it desperately.  
  
”Juicy…?”  
  
Chibs sounds like he used to back when they were still brothers, and he was concerned about something. The man is nervous, Juice realises, and he doesn’t like it. Chibs is supposed to be the one with his feet firmly on the ground and this new showing of insecurity makes Juice uncomfortable as well. He picks Dyna up again and sits down on the floor, cross legged.  
  
”Tully liked animals. Dogs mostly but he liked cats too. Not indoor cats though. Farm cats, chasing rats and shit. He liked those. He missed his dogs.”  
”A gentle soul…”  
  
Juice wasn’t aware that his words about the nazi had stuck and he gives a self-ironic smile.  
  
”Tully wasn’t… a people’s person, really. Said humans mostly caused trouble.”  
”Well… he had a point.”  
”I guess he did. You must think I’m completely fucked up for missing him.”  
  
He takes a deep breath, not to keep talking but to stay calm. Chibs looks at him, not confused or angered, just… sad.  
  
”I’ve spent time inside, kiddo. I know how things work there… ye gotta do what ye can to survive. Have no right to judge ye on that one.”  
”I hated him, you know. Only not all the time. You understand?”  
  
The man nods.  
  
”Aye. Think I do.”  
”After he’d failed to off me, I thought he’d just give it another go. If not by himself so at least send someone else, but he didn’t. Never let anyone touch me.”  
  
Dyna purrs loudly into his neck and Juice strokes her back. She smells sweet, it helps him relax a little.  
  
”Jax never meant for me to earn my way back, Chibs. I knew that. Taking out Tully would only have caused you problems with the aryans and no one would’ve thanked me for that in the end. Figured it would be better just putting an end to it with a little help. I was tired of being a tool, simple as that. Just didn’t end up the way it was supposed to that time either.”  
”How… He hurt ye?”  
  
Juice laughs. It’s a stupid question. Stupid beyond what he thought Chibs being able of and it hurts. It hurts badly that the Scot so clearly doesn’t know Jax or prison life better than this and Juice looks straight at him.  
  
”Jax sold me out, or more precisly, my ass. Told Tully I _could do with a little lovin’_. Who wouldn’t love being fucked by a nazi reading you poetry, huh? Didn’t even have to paint my nails. And I know it’s not worth shit to you or anyone else, but I kept my mouth shut, like I shouldn’t have done about Clay and Gemma and Tara, like I _should’ve_ when Roosevelt and Potter worked me and I don’t give a shit anymore, Chibs, because I was never supposed to get out of this alive and I should’ve known that before I fucked it up beyond repair. You really think it matters by now, who’ve had my ass at Stockton? I’m not looking for fucking sympathy, Chibs, I’m tired. I’m so fucking _tired_ , I no longer care.”  
  
Dyna, who doesn’t like loud noises, jumps down again and up on the bed, curling up on the blanket. Juice feels empty, frayed and kind of lost. His face is heated and his chest tightening.  
  
”I… I don’t know what I am or what to do about anything anymore, Chibs. I’m _done_ and I can’t end it!”  
  
His fists are curling and he leans onto the sink.  
  
”Juice… C’mere, lad. Please?”  
  
That’s the Chibs he knows, placed in a shitty motel room where he doesn’t belong and Juice swallows. He doesn’t approch his former friend and brother, only looks at him, not closing off.  
  
”Either you leave now and stay away, or you stay the night without leaving like a fucking closet case or angry boy without a word. Your choice, Chibs.”  
  
Silence. That kind of pause preparing for the inevitable disappointment he no longer should be able to feel or have the right to anymore. The smell of scotch and smoke close, but not too close.  
  
”I… I’d like to stay, Juicyboy. I really would.”


	48. Chapter 48

The dark rings under the eyes almost look cartoonish, as does the kitten on his shoulder. If Chibs didn’t know any better, he’d laugh but there’s nothing funny with the picture at all. Juicyboy looks so tired, so gut-wrenching lonely and Chibs knows he was wrong. Juice didn’t try to get pity from him, or trick him into anything. The kid hasn’t given up, he’s simply certain he doesn’t deserve any better, hence the lack of fear for Samcro or anything else. This isn’t a man who’ll be threatened into rat or run others dirty errends anymore because he’ll neither gain nor loose anything from it.  
  
”Just tell me when you decide to leave.”  
  
Juice seems indifferent, sounds like he is despite the little outburst, and maybe that’s a small part of the truth but Chibs realises the kid really is tired. He doesn’t have the strenght to put up much more of a fight and he knows it, that’s why he doesn’t yield or tries to escape. Chibs gets up from his chair and walks towards the lonely figure by the sink. Juice doesn’t want pity, but that’s not what Chibs feels, looking at him and he reaches his hand out.  
  
”Juice…”  
  
He’s really not sure what to do, what’s the right thing. Chibs only knows he wants to be let close again, that he needs it more than he’s willing to admit and fears a rejection. It doesn’t make sense, non of it does, but Chibs is beyond that for now. All he wants now, is to hold Juice.   
  
”I promise I wont leave like tha’ again, lad. And I wont go anywhere ye can’t find me easily, unless I know we’re good and ye’re okay and doesn’t want me near. Alright? Please, Juicy… c’mere.”  
  
It’s a plea. A real fucking plea and Juice takes the reached out hand, letting Chibs pull him close again. Mary, Mother of God, he’s skinny! And cramped. Heavy and cramped like he’s been forced to carry heavy shit for miles in the same position without any chance to stretch or rest. And maybe that’s not too far from the truth, Chibs thinks as he carefully strokes the rock hard shoulders.  
  
”Don’t want that.”  
”What?”  
”Don’t leave too far. If you want to… be in my life again in any way, Chibs, you gotta let me… I don’t know… Get used to it again. Can’t do that if you’re going away for… too long right now, okay?”  
”Okay. I wont. I’ll stay in the area. I’ll stay close to ye, lad. And again, I’m really sorry for leaving like that. Was a cowardly thing to do.”  
  
Juice snorts.  
  
”You’re in good company then.”  
”I didn’t mean to…”  
”Just stop talking for a while, Chibbie. You’ve already told me you’re sorry and that you want to stay. T’is good enough for me. Wasn’t kidding about being tired and I’d really like to sit down.”  
  
Chibs reluctantly lets go of the kid and watches as he takes the cup and moves to the couch. He puts the telly on and then curls his knees to his chest, resting his head on them and looks at the screen with empty eyes. Dyna jumps to sit on the backrest behind him, forming herself to a little roll, a small orange with fur. Chibs is careful not to sit too close, doesn’t want to intrude on this small couch, but Juice still looks so lonely in his corner, almost abandoned.  
  
This is Chibs’ call. His turn to show need and risk rejection. He puts the barely touched tea cup on the floor and puts an arm on the backrest, a silent but obvious invitation and after a little while, the exhausted kid leans into it as the kitten purrs in Chibs’ ear. There’s no way he can sneak away a second time.


	49. Chapter 49

Is he pathetic for leaning into him like this? For letting Chibs put an arm around him again. The battle of wills is fairly predictable: without the energy to feel ashamed, it’s far easier to push the limits and Chibs’ chest is so very tempting and Juice so fucking tired.  
  
They’re not talking, Juice only hears the low sound from the telly, a show he no longer remembers what it’s about. If he concentrates he also hears Dyna’s purring and occasional sounds of Chibs moving a little, but otherwise his hearing is full with the other man’s heartbeats. Calm, steady beats from a strong heart, who’s kept beating through all kinds of hell without betraying the club, the brothers. Why he’s staying, is beyond Juice. He accepts it though, because he probably couldn’t bear to see the man leave again. That’s probably pathetic too.  
  
Chibs is warm and cuddly and Juice too far from normal sense of shame and boundaries not to accept the invitation. He can feel Chibs’ breath in his hair and after a while, the raspy sense of beard scraping softly against his head. How the arm around his shoulder makes just enough of the tension go away, to have him curl into the man even more.  
  
Juice has always loved cuddles, only rarely shown it. Samcro made a lot of things available; pussy, drugs, money… but cuddles, no, that’s not what you get from crow eaters and definately not brothers. Maybe, if you’re lucky, old ladies with really secure positions can show you some tenderness every now and then, like some kind of deputy mothers or sisters. That is, of course, if their old men allow it. The brotherly hugs and pats between members are there, of course, but so very impersonal. You give it to everyone in the same way you say ”I love you”, like a ritual, a given thing when actual love needs far more than shared patches and ink to it. Sometimes Juice wonders how many of all the _I love you:s_ had real meaning behind them.  
  
Pretended love works too. It’s so easy to trick yourself, even when you’re fully aware of it. It only needs a little push; a warm hug, an encouraging stroke on your arm, a shoulder offering a place to rest your weary head on. And Chibs loved him once. That makes it harder to remember he no longer does. Not like before.  
  
”Juicyboy… ye’re crushing my hand…”  
”Oh… sorry…”  
  
Juice lets go of the hand he wasn’t even aware of holding and Chibs leans down, nuzzling the side of his neck. _He loved him once._  
  
”Chibs…”  
”What?”  
”I still love you.”  
  
_And I have nothing to loose, which makes me reckless._ Chibs had his chance to run. Or shoot. Turning him over to Tig and Happy or carve him a fucking Glasgow smile. It’s too late for that now. It was too late yesterday, a week ago and it’s too late for fucking forever. __  
  
He waits for it. The withdrawl. How the distance will grow, the awkward stiffness taking over relaxation when Chibs draws back, because he will.  
  
”I love ye too, Juicyboy.”  
  
A sigh. The smell of cigarettes and scotch.  
  
”Never once stopped loving ye… Why else do ye think I’m here, ye daft muppet?”


	50. Chapter 50

Fragility doesn’t suit a biker. Patch and ink removed or not, that doesn’t change. Or maybe it’s just Chibs’ Scottish up-bringing talking, reminding him that weakness of any kind in Belfast was dangerous. But Samcro has always been home to fragile boys and men. Everyone has his moments of weakness, of vulnerability and tears certainly aren’t frown upon when shed for good reasons. As long as grief, doubts or pain doesn’t stop you from moving forward with the club, it doesn’t matter if you cry a river. Crying isn’t a sign of strenght nor weakness in itself. It’s all about the story behind the tears and how you move along once you’re out of them.  
  
From the outside, Juice sure as hell seems weak. Chibs thought it too for a long time and it hurt him. It’s always been painful to see a brother fall from grace no matter the reason, because the betrayal always gets to Chibs’ heart. In those moments, letting reason rain supreme is almost worse than the betrayal itself. Fragility may not suit him or anyone in Samcro, or this kind of life, but they’re still there and grief and sorrow more than once have ruled the most loyal heart and mind.  
  
He loves Juice. Loves this sad mess of a traitor and no, you just don’t turn that off. Not when the reasons for that love still are very much alive, with strong roots digging into your heart. It was love that made John write the book, love that made Tara give Jax another chance and love that had Wendy finally choose the right path. It wasn’t love that ruined so many lives, but fear and rage, secrets and greed. You can and must love with a clear mind, if life has taught Chibs anything, it’s that. And that’s why he can’t help but feeling Juicy’s betrayal could’ve been avoided, had he just been more observant and known how to talk with the kid. Because in this, both Chibs’ reason and heart speak with one voice.  
  
Juice is curled up against him, snugly like the kitten who’s placed itself on the kid’s lap again. The little creature is sleeping and it doesn’t suit a gang member of any sort, but it suits Juice. It suits this human ruin who’s lost all hope of anything but a clean death. If Chibs puts the false biker romance and it’s euphemisms aside along with the IRA and lets the medic and grown ass man put words into it, it gets a different kind of light. Clinical depression, deep melancholy and emotional numbness. Loss of context, meaning and direction. Social isolation and still fresh wounds of trauma no one’s really cared to heal or even look into. Lack of love and any kind of hope to find it again.  
  
Chibs keeps holding the kid, not because his most humane part feels obliged to, but because he wants. He needs it, needs to feel Juice, although scrawny and hopeless, alive and breathing close to him. For so long, Chibs has refused to think about Juice’s own story behind the betrayal, or why exactly Jax offered him another chance. He’s been telling himself there’s no use or time to think of the past, that it’s been better letting Juice meet his end in prison and forget about how that betrayal may not had happened at all was it not for Clays, Gemmas and Jax’s family secrets. And Chibs can’t just stop loving Juice, at least not until he’s heard the full story, which in this case means patience.   
  
The kid is fragile but no longer afraid. At least not of the club or Jax. He’s got nothing to loose like the last time and with anyone else, Chibs would consider that a threat to the club. But Juice hasn’t said a word since the failed murder attempt and that kind of loyalty doesn’t suit a traitor. Or a coward.  
  
”Chibby…”  
”What?”  
”I’m tired. Think I might… fall asleep soon…”  
”Want me to help ye to bed?”  
”No. Can… can I fall asleep like this?”  
”Of course ye can, lad. C’mere…”  
  
Chibs pulls him down carefully to have the weary head in his lap instead. He takes his hoodie off and spreads it over the kid’s shoulders. The stupid head tats are covered by soft, black hair and Chibs strokes it, the fuzz in the nape over the sore, tense muscles.  
  
”Are you with me until I’m asleep?”  
”Aye.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
The sigh of relief could be pathetic. A week ago Chibs would’ve called it that. Now he’s not sure and quite frankly too messed up himself to search for a suitable label.  
  
”I’ll carry ye to bed, lad. When ye’re asleep. And then I’ll sleep on the couch. Tha’ alright with ye?”  
”Yeah. That’ll… that’ll be… ’M not good on my own, Chibs…”  
”I know, Juicyboy. I know. Try to sleep now, kid. I’m here…”  
  
He shouldn’t be, but he is. And wherever he’d go if he runs again, his mind and heart would still be here until he can figure this chaos out.


	51. Chapter 51

He’s alone. The cell is empty, Tully’s not there and the whole block is dead silent. No snoring, cursing, choked cries or muffled moans coming from the cells and Juice looks out the bars but there’s no sign of inmates or guards. It’s just him and the silence, the punishment for his sins. Being locked up and forgotten, bound to the loneliness in every way for talking too much.   
  
Juice tries to hit his head against the bars, but they’re soft. Can’t hurt him. He bites his wrists, only to discover he has no teeth left. Only a disgusting flesh bite that leaves no mark. The bunk, the sink, the locker… everything is soft and leaves him unharmed and when he tries to tie the sheets high enough to take a swing, they turn to tatters. He feels no thirst, no hunger and there’s not a scratch on his body. This is his punishment, trapped in isolation with not even the cowards way out and he’s too weak to scream, eveb though no one would hear it if he could. He can only sob and whisper. _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Please, come back…_  
  
”Juicyboy? Juice…?”  
  
The familiar voice doesn’t fit into the surroundings and Juice starts crying because it’s only his memory playing a trick on him. Chibs isn’t there, he was never there in the first place and Juice hasn’t had this particular nightmare in a very long time. It stopped coming after a while, Tully used to soothe him enough to make it leave but Tully isn’t there and no one else is either.  
  
”Juice! Wake up, lad. Ye’re having a nightmare.”  
  
A slap on his cheek and then another, hard and fast, and the cell disappears along with the cell block and entire prison and Juice finds himself sitting up on his bed, heart pounding and drenched in sweat. Two dark eyes, like black pepper, fixed upon him and it’s not Tully’s.   
  
”Chibby…?”  
”Aye, it’s me. I’m here, Juicyboy, look at me.”  
  
The cheeks sting a little and the man he now reckognize as Chibs, holds his face between his palms, stroking with callous thumbs.  
  
”Ye were dreamin’, I’m still here with ye, kid.”  
”I’m sorry…”  
”Hey, I only slapped ye to wake ye up. C’mere,  Juicyboy, c’mere…”  
  
Juice is only vaguely aware of the oddity in the situation. That Chibs is there for real and not to accuse or punish him, but talking softly, holding him close.  
  
”Ye’re not alone, I’m not leaving ye. T’is gonnae be alright, lovey…”  
  
Juicyboy. Kid. Kiddo. Lad. _Lovey…_ Chibs way of sprinkling pet names onto the people he loves is too much right now and that’s what sends Juice straight over the edge. The contrasts are too large to handle in this confused state between horror tattered sleep and fully awake, all he seems able to do is cry. The memories are swallowing him like a giant wave, every little hidden wound and regret stinging again like they’re new and fresh, deprived of the numbness that has kept him going, like a battery replacing a real heart.   
  
”I’m sorry, Chibs… Please, I’m…”   
  
He’s not capable of talking anymore, he’s just sobbing into the open arms, hiding himself against Chibs’ shoulder and cries like he’s not already done it too much for no use. __  
  
”Hey hey… I know. I know ye’re sorry but don’t talk, Juice. Try to rest, lovey, ye’re exhausted. Don’t have to talk or explain anythin’ right now. Just rest, lad, ye’re not alone… C’mon, try and lie down.”  
  
Chibs cradles him, lets him lie on his arm, bending face into his chest.   
  
”I know I betrayed you and…”  
”Juicyboy, stop. Stop apologising, stop explaining stuff, kiddo, I’ve already forgiven ye and ye need to calm down. I’m not mad at ye and I’m not leavin’ ye, alright? Christ… We need to stop these bloody nightmares somehow, they’re rippin’ ye open…”   
  
Slowly, with the help of soothing words and Chibs’ steady arms, Juice’s mind slows down, the rattling, erratic thoughts coming to rest in their right places, not too close to take advantage again, just getting back where they belong. The Scot’s mouth rests in his hair, his hand stroking Juice’s shoulders in a smooth, calm circle. Warm air, kisses on his head, a soft murmur promising over and over that he’s not leaving.


	52. Chapter 52

It’s not another of Juice’s nightmares that wakes Chibs up this time. It’s the cat. A hungry, purring kitten is walking over Juice’s hip and ribs, asking for breakfast. The kid himself is curled to a ball in Chibs’ arms and sleeps heavily. Thank God. Chibs rarely prays in earnest, but he sends one of thanks wherever it should go now. He slowly releases himself from the sleeping form and kisses the head when Juice starts moving.  
  
”Just gonnae feed yer mountain lion, kiddo. Be right back.”  
  
Juice relaxes again and Chibs can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He finds the cat food and refills the bowls with kibble and fresh water. He then takes to the bathroom to have a piss and, since he’s there and the damn cat probably will start meowing about it once it’s fed, he empties the litter box too. He doesn’t need to, it’s not his bloody cat, he just hates the smell. After washing up a little, the damn smell seems to stick on him, Chibs lights a smoke and sighs deep, sinking down on the floor as the cat comes back and strokes against his legs.  
  
”Hey, I’m not yer maw, ye little wanker. Mountain lion… Christ, yer da is daft.”  
  
He keeps an eye on him, even now. The small body on the bed looks abandon, sort of wasted. Some kind of leftover people can and are used to have their way with. Juice no longer cares even if he should. Chibs does and he shouldn’t. This shouldn’t make him remember a time when he couldn’t put words into why he felt more for Juice than the others. It worried him at first, but then he accepted it as one of those unnamable feelings there was no use to examine further as long as it didn’t get out of control. Which it didn’t.  
  
Juice moves in his sleep and Chibs returns to him, heart tugging a little as the kid not only seems to reckognize his touch, but leans into his arms immediately, seaking closeness Chibs neither can’t nor want to deny Juice. Or himself.   
  
It stirrs up things that should’ve remain sleeping, whispers of another kind of forgiveness that’s far beyond the boundaries of brotherhood or friendship. The kind of bond that, no matter what promises you make to a club, in most cases will last longer, even in it’s most frayed form. The unspoken truth that against a human you’ve let this far into your heart, in a way that can’t hide any lies or pretend to be something else, the patch doesn’t stand a chance. Some things simply wont bend to reason and there’s no ones fault but the heart that couldn’t keep the door shut.  
  
A sleeping Juice cradled in his arms, is like blowing that fucking door to dust. He may look like shit, all skin and bones, and he’s a wreck and an idiot but it doesn’t matter. In fact, none of the reasons that once almost made Chibs kill him, seems to play any part in this anymore. He doesn’t want to leave this room or even the bed, wants to hold Juicy close and make him feel well again. It’s stupid, dangerous, bizarre and fucking insane but it doesn’t seem to get to him. Chibs is aware, it just doesn’t make him act like his rational part usually would.  
   
The kid craves the closeness and Chibs pretends he himself doesn’t. That he only allows it for Juice’s sake. That he wouldn’t miss the feeling of the other man’s body, the scent of him. Hasn’t missed it, doesn’t feel better for holding him again… Chibs has never been good at lying to himself and even the most well tamed heart that has learned to not beat too fast for fragile things, will sometimes stop listen to reason and break the rhythm.   
  
He brushes his lips over Juice’s neck, sighing.  
  
”Ye’re gonnae be the death of me, lovey…  Doesn’t matter if I stay or leave, ’cause there’s nothing for it. Wont change wha’ I feel for ye, _mo ghaoil._ *”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my beloved


	53. Chapter 53

He’s not freezing. That’s the first thing making Juice realise he’s not alone. He’s still half asleep and dreaming he’s back at Stockton, that Tully’s holding him, but the scent doesn’t fit. He can’t feel the almost clinical smell from the cell mates’ cheap soap or the laundry powder, nor hear the sounds from an awakening prison ward.  
  
”Ye awake, Juicyboy?”  
  
Chibs? Juice slowly opens his eyes and instead of the cell and Tully, there’s a boring room with a drowsy Scot in it, looking back at him.  
  
”Chibs?”  
”Aye. T’is me, lad.”  
  
It comes back to him, slowly but steadily and then he feels the soft pressure of paws on his legs. Dyna. And Chibs’ warm body is cradled around him.   
  
”No more nightmares?”  
”No… Don’t think so.”  
”Good. Ye had a pretty bad one…”  
”Sorry. Guess I woke you up.”  
”Don’t be. Glad I could… be of any help. How are ye feelin’ now?”  
”Bit tired.”  
”Ye know I’m not leavin’ unless ye want me to, right?”  
  
Chibs gives him half a smile and Juice closes his mouth, on his way to ask exactly that and he blushes.   
  
”Stay. Please…”  
”I’d like that, Juicyboy…”  
  
The man brushes his knuckles over Juice’s cheek, closing his eyes again.  
  
”I’ve missed ye, lad…  So much.”  
  
He wants to answer, but can’t. The sob forcing it’s way up from his chest must be choked first and he can feel the firm but soft pressure from Chibs’ palm on his chest bone.   
  
”Relax, Juice. I’m not gonnae hurt ye or run off or anything. I promise. Hey… don’t… Please, don’t start… Good God…”  
  
But of course he does. Cries. He really can’t help himself, but Chibs seems to understand. Doesn’t snort or sigh, or even comment it. The man just holds him, patiently and without intruding. Chibs’ palm is stroking in gentle circles on his chest, softening the tension a little by every move. And then Juice feels the softest brush on his lips, just the hint of it, a courteous knock on the door.  
  
”Juicyboy… _mo ghaoil._ *”  
  
The words are Gaelic, he doesn’t know them, but the cadance speaks clear enough. The warm breath, the slight scraping from the beard, thumbs stroking the tears away. The kiss is soft, just a heated brush, lips searching, asking without words. There’s a question in the closeness, an insecurity he needs to feel from Chibs, to not feel like he’s the only one exposed now.  
  
”Ye alright, lovey?”  
  
Juice nods and the man looks at him, worry in the dark eyes.  
  
”Ye’re cryin’… Wish I didn’t make ye cry like this…”  
”You’re not. It’s… I don’t know, Chibs, I’m just so… tired.”  
”Can I hold ye?”  
”Yeah… Sorry for… this…”  
”Hey, don’t start tha’ again, lad. I’m here because I want to. ’Cause I still love ye, ye muppet.”   
  
That just starts the tears off again. Like turning a tap. In this state, newly awake and still exhausted, there’s not much of a defence left. But Chibs doesn’t say anything more, just strokes his shoulders and neck, his head and back. The man knows when there’s no use talking, when it’s only a choice between waiting or leaving. And as Juice waits for the damn crying to stop, Chibs waits too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my beloved


	54. Chapter 54

This should annoy him. All this weeping. Problem is, Chibs is prone to logical thinking and knows more than well that you can’t exactly decide over you mind while sleeping. Something’s happened to the kid, or maybe it’s just all the things put together since shit went south that has broken down his defences. Juice is exhausted in more than one way and Chibs is no idiot. He knows how that can show, nightmares and crying from them being some of many signs.  
  
Juice is sobbing in his arms, slowly calming down again. Chibs didn’t mean to spill the truth to him, that he still loves him, but he did and saying it more than once doesn’t change it in any way. Some words you just can’t take back and some tears just have to stop on their own. Chibs strokes the tense back, rubs little circles over the shoulders.  
  
”It’ll be alright, kiddo. I know ye’re tired. Gonnae stay with ye now, I promise. Don’t worry, lad.”  
  
It’s a promise he shouldn’t make, because there’s a difference in promising no to leave and promising to stay. Chibs has work to do, has a club to run, one who ex-communicated the man he’s currently trying to comfort and sooner or later, there will be questions. Charming and Stockton are too small for them to keep their re-tied bond hidden even if the extent of it is. Juice has his job and parole terms he must keep up and there are a lot of shit they eventually have to talk about.  
  
The promise he shouldn’t make has the intended effect though. Juice finally stops crying, rubs his face and takes a deep breath.  
  
”I… You want some horrible coffee or cheap tea?”  
”Cheap tea with lots of sugar.”  
”Alright.”  
  
Juice worms out of Chibs’ arms and leaves the bed. He’s still wearing the clothes from yesterday and he feels like shit. He puts the water on and grabs some fresh clothes before heading into the shower, leaving Chibs alone for a moment and that’s needed.  
  
Chibs lights a smoke and sits by the small window, getting some fresh air while poisoning himself and trying to think. Juice isn’t ex-communicated, that’s the first thing he remembers. Damn, his mind is slow in the mornings. In fact, they never made a second Mayhem vote and Jax did gave him a chance to earn his way back. To be honest, letting himself be killed was just as good way of getting even as killing off Tully. The latter would’ve caused a hell no one but Jax had instigated and after meeting Mr. Mayhem, the problem was out of his hands anyway. Happy may have been furious at Tully refusing to give it another try, but the others had seen the logic in it, especially after knowing about all the heat Gemma and Clay had caused that Juice frankly was about just as much of a victim to, as guilty of not bringing to the table.  
  
Mary, Mother of Christ, what a mess. Chibs pours the boiled water in a cup with the tea bag Juice already put in it. A small package of sugar and a spoon stands next to it, in a neat line, nothing spilled on the minimal countertop. How pathetic is it to feel good about signs of obsessive cleaning when the dust ras are practically taking over every available surface in your own home and you can’t be bothered?  
  
”There’s bread in the cupboard.”  
  
Chibs turns around quickly, seeing the tiny smile from Juice for having caught him lost in his thoughts. The kid looks neat too in dark grey cargo pants and a checkered, short sleeve shirt. He notices Chibs eyeing him and the smile turns a little wider, but it doesn’t reach the eyes.  
  
”You like my work outfit?”  
”Ye look like a numpty.”  
”Guess it suits me then.”  
  
Juice sounds less hollow or maybe it’s just wishful thinking from Chibs’ side. He takes out milk, bread and butter from the fridge and puts two pieces of the white loaf on the two small plates he has. It’s a very meager breakfast, not that it matters to Chibs personally, but the kid needs to eat more.  
  
”Ye’re not having anything else?”  
”No, sorry.”  
”Aint expecting a bloody serving for meself, ye idiot. S’this all ye have until lunch?”  
  
Christ, he sounds like his own mother… Chibs blushes as Juice looks at him with a confused expression in the brown eyes.  
  
”I… I’m eating, Chibs. Not starving myself or having too little money to eat it’s just… I’m not hungry. Maybe it’ll change when I’ve been, you know, working a little longer.”  
  
That’s wishful thinking, or would’ve been if the lad cared. Right now it’s just a way of escaping questions and opinions Chibs frankly has no right to throw in his face. He should just drop it and he nods.  
  
”Alright. Glad ye had the good sense of getting some half-decent tea, at least.”  
  
The kid smiles, showing a panifully obvious relief for being let off the hook. Good God, that smile, those big eyes… Chibs can’t stand the idea of Juice coming home to this depressing place all alone after work. The kitten is a good company but it can’t cook or make sure Juice eats properly. Chibs has work to do himself today, but since getting almost entirely legit, the nightly jobs have decreased to a minimum and he wont be needed for emergency shit like before. Chibs swallows down a dry piece of toast.  
  
”I could get ye some dinner tonight. If ye like to. Don’ know when I’m off but it shouldn’t be tha’ late.”  
”Yeah?”  
  
Juice looks surprised and doubtful, a little apprehensive and Chibs isn’t good with this much insecurity this early. He snorts and lights another smoke.  
  
”T’is only food, ye muppet. M’not yer bloody care taker.”


	55. Chapter 55

The conflicting messages should worry him. Juice does worry, but probably not enough. He’s gotten used to think of himself as more or less dead, a walking body that sort of functions properly, except it doesn’t feel things like it used to. It’s that numbness that gets him through the days. That and the sence of going through a penance. Tully helped him with that, letting go of himself and accept his place as the lowest, no pride left to protect and the only choice being to not take his own life.  
  
That acceptance has slowly made him into something less living which, ironically, is what keeps him alive. He doesn’t really know who he’s doing this punishment for, since there’s no one seeing or asking for it. Not Jax, not the club, not his family and the parole officer couldn’t care less about this inner purgatory or why Juice feels guilty for using meds to get out of it. From the outside, it just looks like a complete waste of time and energy, stupid beyond reckognition because there’s no goal with it. Juice will never be forgiven by Samcro and he doesn’t aim for it either. He’s simply torturing himself for the stupidity and cowardness that brought him to this state of mind in the first place.  
  
By lunchtime he’s exhausted and reels as he gets off the stupid moped. Mr. Gerrison unfortunately sees it from his window and Juice is called to the office as soon as he gets inside. He leaves the small sandwich on the table in the lunchroom and heads into his boss, who looks less than pleased.  
  
”Ortiz. Close the door and sit.”  
  
Juice does as he’s told and sits down quietly on the chair in front of Mr. Gerrison’s desk.  
  
”Have you been taking anything?”  
  
Subtle as a brick. Juice just shakes his head.  
  
”No, sir.”  
”When was the last drug test?”  
”Uhm… Almost a week ago, I think. Could make one now and it wont show anything, can promise that, sir.”  
”Hm… You’re ill or something?”  
”No, sir. Don’t think so. Just a bit tired.”  
”You look like shit, Ortiz. Go get the test and then go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.”  
”But…”  
”I’m not paying you for sleeping on that bike, boy. Get your ass home  now. You’re getting paid for half a day.”  
”Alright. Thank you, sir.”  
”Just leave.”  
  
Juice hasn’t recieved any complaints on the work until now and has been feeling just a little less of a failure for that. Mr. Gerrison’s irritation hurts, because it’s so obvious he’s not disappointed, just contemptuous. Like all the weeks of good work, being on time and not recieving any complaints from costumers or staff count for nothing.  Juice knows he’s doing a good job, better than many of the real employees, and it’s not fair to treat him like he’s been lazy just because he’s tired today.  
  
Not that he gives voice to that. He’s no idiot, despite what Mr. Gerrison or others think. He’s simply not interested in living and considering that, dragging his ass to work on time every day and doing it as well as he can despite not giving a shit, he’s doing a fucking amazing job. Never late, never delivers to the wrong door, never getting complaints on broken, expired or in other ways bad items.  
  
He leaves the shop and walks to the police station to report himself. Officer Walsh has just finished her lunch and looks less than impressed when the receptionist gets her to see Juice.  
  
”Ortiz. Why are you not at work?”  
”Got sent home. Don’t feel well.”  
  
He’s tired and the sight of the quite intimidating woman doesn’t help.   
  
”Mr. Gerrison wants me to make another test.”  
”You’re on something?”  
”No, I’m just tired. Was thinking maybe I could make it now so I can get home and sleep.”  
  
All his tests have been clean this far and maybe that’s earned him some kind of, not trust but at least kindness. Officer Walsh nods.  
  
”Alright. You can sit down and wait for a while. I have some other things to do first.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
Sitting down feels good. Juice almost falls asleep in the chair before Walsh comes back with the usual plastic jar. The usual procedure of searching him is quickly done and he’s let inside the restroom. The face looking back at him in the mirror looks absolutely awful. Like a motherfucking zombie and Juice turns away and gets his dick out, going on with the task. When it’s done, he’s almost shaking and has to sit down on the toilet seat to regain his balance before leaving the restroom.  
  
Walsh takes the sample.  
  
”You’re not looking very well, Ortiz.”  
”No shit?”  
  
He’s not usually rude to her, or anyone, but Walsh just gives him a sardonic little smile.  
  
”Hit the road, Ortiz. And stay with Advils and you prescripts, no other shit, or you’ll be back in Stockton in no time, I promise you that. You can come back for your next test once you’re up and running again.”  
   
Juice just nods and leaves without another word. He’s not running these days, neither to nor from anything.


	56. Chapter 56

”Juicyboy? Hey, ye’re awake…?”  
”Chibs…?”  
  
The kid opens his eyes, sleepish and a little confused.  
  
”How’d you get in?”  
”Ye forgot to lock the door, kiddo. An’then ye didn’t answer yer phone.”  
”Oh… Must’ve been sleepin’ pretty hard.”  
”Aye.”  
”Got sent home from work. Too tired.”  
”Ah.”  
”Was told not to come in tomorrow.”  
”I can see why.”  
  
Juice looks even worse than he did this morning. At least his boss had the sense to send him home. Chibs almost reluctantly strokes his cheek.  
  
”Brought us dinner, kiddo. An’if ye say ye’re not hungry or refuse to eat, I’ll give ye a proper, ol’fashioned bare arse spanking before shoving the food down yer throat. Got that?”  
  
The kid smiles a little.  
  
”Got it.”  
  
It’s not a serious threat. Well, maybe just a little, because Chibs doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like seeing Juice this numb and exhausted at all. It makes him feel helpless and guilty, angry and sad at the same time and the fact that he shouldn’t care at all, makes it even worse.  
  
Juice sits up and moves over to the small table and the minced beef pizza Chibs got them, without commenting the bag he definately sees. Yes, Chibs is staying. He’s not gonna back out of it again, like some damn wayward lass even if that means a lot of riding between Stockton and Charming. He wont need to get back tomorrow, though. If Juice wants him to, he can stay for a couple of days just keeping him company or getting in his face. Since it’s Chibs, it’ll probably be both.  
  
It’s about eight at night and Chibs wonders if the kid will be able to sleep later or lay awake thinking too much. But if he’s not going to work tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. Juice takes a few tentative bites on his pizza slice, the bloody kitten looking longingly after it and Chibs gives the kid a glare.  
  
”I suggest ye stuff yer own mouth instead of that cat’s. Wasn’t kiddin’ ’bout the spanking, lad.”  
  
Juice rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything and takes another bite, this time ignoring his begging pet. With the telly saving them from more talking and strenous silence, the kid manages to finish two small but meat stuffed slices, save for the crusts and Chibs is content with that. Juice gives him another of his self-ironic smiles.  
  
”I’m off the hook? Or do I have to eat the crusts too?”  
”Ye don’t.”  
”Thanks. For the food. And for staying.”  
”Ye’re welcome, lad. Now shut up and let me eat.”  
  
He’s harsh, he knows that, but it’s his way. Always has been and it keeps him focused. Helps him stay on a necessairy distance as well, which is crucial in this life. What he feels for Juice, what the kid unintentionally does to his usually so steady heart, is worrying. No woman has ever made Chibs feel this vulnerable or insecure and it would be enough if it was all about the fact that Juice is a man. If it was a drunken moment of accidental experimentation in bed they could both wake up and sneak away from.  
  
Problem is, it’s not one of those moments and they both know it. The kitten is curled up in Juice’s lap once it realises it wont get anymore treats and the kid pets it lightly, even smiling a little at it, not one of those self-ironic sneers but a real smile, soft and warm, reaching the eyes and that’s worrying too. Chibs loves women, loves being around them, talking to them and most certainly fucking them. But he loves Juice too and not in the brotherly way. It’s torture and he can’t escape.


	57. Chapter 57

It’s not a conscious decision. Ending up against Chibs’ chest again. Juice has been freezing a lot since getting out of prison and the other man’s body heat is simply irresistable. Dyna makes a pretty good hot pad too, but Chibs is bigger and less fragile, making him a far better choice of tool for this and Juice acts out of instinct even if he could very possibly be shoved away. He _could_ , but isn’t.  
  
The Scot unfolds his arms and wraps them almost lazily around Juice’s body, allowing him to sit between his legs, leaning back against his chest, like a lover or a girlfriend. He doesn’t say anything, neither does Juice and he closes his eyes, savoring the moment as much as he’s able to. His body seems to take a deep sigh of relief in the embrace, all the perpetually strained muscles slowly realising they’re allowed to rest again, not alone on a bed but in the warmth of another human being.   
  
”Still freezin’?”  
”Jus’ a little. Feels good though.”  
”What?”  
”This.”  
  
Chibs doesn’t answer, only squeezes Juice’s upper arm a little, a silent confirmation he feels good too. Good enough, at least, not to change his mind and shove him off. There’s a movie going on the telly and they just fall silent before it. Juice isn’t really watching, but it feels easier to have some background noise to this weird situation. He’s still not been able to figure out what Chibs really wants and that’s probably because the man himself doesn’t know either.  
  
For Juice, that part’s a little easier. At least in some ways. He doesn’t want to be alone and has been starved of any kind of affection and closeness since Tully got killed. He’s been lonely in every way for more than a year and a half before bumping into Chibs and he’s not sure how to count this strange reconnection so he leaves his most primitive urges in charge, being the need to feel warm and safe.   
  
He doesn’t really believe Chibs still loves him, at least not enough to want something to do with him in the long run. This is craziness and Juice is more than willy to go with it for as long as he’s allowed, but sooner or later Chibs will realise how fucked up this is and put an end to it. He must, mustn’t he? Until then, Juice will allow himself this, as long as he’s not the one begging for it. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle a direct rejection right now.  
  
”For the love of God, stop thinkin’, kid… I can hear yer mind screamin’ like an Irish lass in a bar fight.”  
”What?”  
”Ye’re thinkin’ too damn loud.”  
  
Juice snorts.  
  
”S’not as if I can make it shut up on will. I’m… I’m scared, Chibs. All this, whatever it is… it scares me a little.”  
”What for?”  
”Cause I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”  
”Me neither, laddie, so ye wont get any answers from me. Can give ye warmth if ye need it, but no fucking answers ’cause I don’t have any yet.”  
  
The voice is harsh but the words reassuring and it’s all the encouragement Juice needs right now. He turns his head, resting his cheek against Chibs’chest. It feels good, really good actually, being nestled in the man’s arms like this. Yes, he needs the warmth, but more than that he needs comfort. Knowing that Chibs isn’t holding him physically only, but… yeah what?  
  
The man doesn’t comment the neediness, only hums a little and almost lazily plants a kiss on Juice’s head. It could be an answer or sort of one at least. They’ve been trapped in this strange battle of wills and confusions for a little while now and Juice is frayed from it.   
  
”Relax, Juicyboy.”  
”I am…”  
”No, ye’re tense as a bloody violin string.”  
”I… I can’t relax on command, Chibs! M’not a fucking computor!”  
  
Juice is breathing heavily, anything but relaxed and he scrambles off Chibs’ lap into the other corner of the small couch. The man will probably leave now, Juice has ruined everything again and shown how weak and unsteady he is.  
  
”I’m sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to get in yer face. What are ye worrying about?”  
”You. Me. This, whatever it is…”  
  
He takes a deep breath, trying to force his pulse to go down. Chibs looks at him, dark eyes almost black now.  
  
”Ye want me to hold ye?”  
”What do _you_ want, Chibs”  
”To… hold ye.”  
  
Chibs sounds… small. Like he’s unsure of his words. If they’re acceptable.  
  
”Meant wha’ I said, Juice. Have no fucking answers but… Well, at least I know _that_ one. If ye want me to. An’I didn’t try to command ye, I just wish ye would… feel better.”  
  
Juice just stares at him, unable to find a clever – or stupid – answer to such blatant honesty. He’s taken aback, but the way the Scot’s scarred cheeks redden, clearly shows Juice isn’t the only one feeling confused –  or scared – right now. And so he saves them both from this akward moment and leans into the man, lets him hold him and the feeling of insecurity leaves him as Chibs buries his nose in the crook of his neck.  
  
”Juicyboy… _A thasgaidh… mo chridhe…_ *”  
  
Endearments. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know the actual words, he can hear the tone, the way those lips ghost over his skin. It’s not seductive or manipulating, just tenderly searching for permission.  
  
”Want ye to feel good again. Need to take better care of yerself, lovey.”  
  
No, he can’t relax on command, but these whispered words, some in Gaelic and some in Scottish accent have that effect on him. And so Juice searches for Chibs’ hand, entangles their fingers together to feel the firm, warm pressure from the man’s grip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My darling… my heart…


	58. Chapter 58

It’s late and Juice is still curled up in his arms. The kid isn’t sleeping, just snoozing lightly and his breaths are calm, his body warm and lax. They’ve barely spoken for a couple of hours but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. The telly is on but very low and serves only as a discrete background noise.  
  
Chibs carefully untangles their hands, only to get a sleepish murmur and a squeeze from Juice.  
  
”Gotta take a piss, kiddo.”  
  
He doesn’t shove Juice away, but moves him gently so he can lay down. The kid whines quietly and Chibs strokes his head, planting a small kiss on the forehead.  
  
”I’ll be back in a sec, lovey… Aint leavin’ ye.”  
  
The reassurance seems to work and Juice lets go of him, sinking back against the old, ugly couch pillow with a little sigh. The kitten lays on the floor and Chibs curses when he almost stumbles on it.  
  
”Bloody beast… Go to yer da, ye death trap.”

He picks it up and puts it by Juice’s chest, where it immediately starts purring and Chibs not for the first time wonders what the hell he’s doing and how he ended up in this situation. He takes to the bathroom, has a well needed piss, grateful that he’s too tired to give a shit about the half-boner. Usually he’s a night owl, but these last days have been maddening and Chibs realises he’s actually ready to fall asleep again as soon as he’ll lay down somewhere.  
  
He sneaks back to the room and grabs his bag, digging up the toothbrush and towel. Juice moves on the couch and Chibs goes to him on instinct, sinking down to pet his hair.  
  
”Juicyboy…”  
”Mhm…”  
”M’not leavin’ ye. Just gonnae brush my teeth.”  
”Mhm… Should… do’tha’ too…”  
”Aye, ye should.”  
  
Juice smiles a little and Chibs returns to the bathroom. The light is a little too sharp and he brushes his teeth quickly, almost ready when Juice comes in, eyes still half-closed.  
  
”You’re staying?”  
  
In this state, it’s more about sleepish confusion than confirmation he’s already had and Chibs simply puts a hand behind the weary head and kisses the crown.  
  
”I am. Forgot the mattress though, I’ll take the couch.”  
”Bed’s big enough.”  
  
It’s a plea as much as an invitation and Chibs curses his own weakness, Juice’s irresistable softness, all the irratonal feelings and that fucking logic that keeps betraying him. The kid grabs his toothbrush and squints at the mirror.  
  
”M’not a kicker.”  
”Ye’re still allowed to kick me outta yer bed.”  
  
Juice starts brushing his teeth, eyes closed again and Chibs leaves the bathroom and digs in his bag for some sweats. He’s not sleeping half-naked here and the mattress he never brought back to his car seems to be tucked away somewhere. He should ask for it, should use it tonight but for Gods sake, Chibs is only human and reason hasn’t got a chance against right now.  
  
He changes into swets and leaves the wife-beater on, turns off the telly and checks the door. The last thing he wants is for some nosy person with any reason to knock on it, to see him there.  
  
”S’it locked?”  
  
Juice comes out from the bathroom and goes to refill the cat’s water bowl. Chibs nods.  
  
”Aye.”  
  
He’s not sure how to do this. Juice gives Dyna a little pet and starts undressing as soon as he’s put the lights put except from a small lamp by the bed. Even in the darkness, you can see how thin he is and Chibs turns around to give him some privacy. He hears the mattress shift and a small, but sharp breath.  
  
”You’re coming?”  
  
The fear is radiating from the question and Chibs swallows hard, forcing away the grumpy, harsh answer that lays on his tongue and goes to the bed. Juice has already left room for him and has turned to face the wall. Chibs moves the kitten who’s kneading on the pillow and hands it over to Juice before laying down.  
  
The kid’s scrawny body is so tense Chibs first thought is to take to the couch instead, but before he can make himself move, Juice has squirmed closer and hums.  
  
”You’re so warm…”  
”Ye’re freezin’?”  
”Always…”  
  
The murmur is drowsy and Chibs realises Juice is about to fall asleep again. Carefully, Chibs pulls the painfully abandoned body close and worms an arm under the head. He buries his nose in the tense neck, kissing it lightly and puts his arm around the torso. He finds Juice’s hand and it immediatetely entangles fingers with him. A low sigh comes from the kid.  
  
”Thank you…”  
”For what, kiddo?”  
  
But Juice doesn’t answer. He’s already asleep, snuggled up and nestled in the heat that is Chibs’ worn down body.


	59. Chapter 59

_You betrayed us. You failed me._  
  
Jax is looking at him, eyes cold and Juice tries to answer, to beg once again for forgiveness but he can’t make a sound. His lips are moving but nothing can be heard and then he sees Clay, with the blacked out ink on his arm, smiling.  
  
_I love you, brother._  
  
The man turns around and leaves, the blackened back slightly bent as he walks towards Gemma, who’s waiting with a barbecue fork in her hand, eating from Tara’s body, that’s dripping with blood.  
  
_The secret’s in the sauce, Juice.  
_  
He wants to scream, to move, but he’s frozen on the floor, the sounds of Gemma’s chewing ecchoing and then Tara opens her eyes.  
  
_You’re taking care of this, right? You’re so good with cleaning, Juicy, and Jax always skips the corners…_  
  
He backs tries to back away, only bump into Chibs’ body and when he turns around, the Scot’s iron fist lands in his face.  
  
_Ye coward!_  
  
He’s falling from the hit, but doesn’t land on the floor but in someone’s arms. Tully’s pale face is looking at him and the man gives a wry smile, stroking his cheek.  
  
_Oh, I’ll see you later, baby…  
  
_ But when Juice looks away, the man is gone, everyone is and he’s alone again in his cell that keeps getting bigger and bigger, drowning him in the emptiness, the loneliness…  
  
”Juice? Juicy! Hey, wake up!”  
”I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Tully… s-so sorry…”  
”Lad, it’s me, Chibs! Wake up, kiddo, look at me!”  
  
The rough hit shakes him from the dream and he’s back. Back in bed, Chibs by his side and tears streaming down his face. He’s started crying in his sleep and the already constant feeling of loss of control increases, the humiliation washing over him like the sweat covering his body. Chibs holds him, rubbing his damp arms with rough palms.  
  
”S’alright, Juicyboy… Just a nightmare, nothin’s happened, lovey, t’was just a dream.”  
  
The man keeps soothing and petting him, unbothered by the sweat and stickyness from ugly crying and the nightmare dies off, leaving Juice in a pathetic pile of sobs and reeking wetness, clutching onto Chibs.  
  
He buries his face against the man’s chest, desperate to feel something warm and living, hearing the heart beats of someone again.  
  
”Easy now, lad… Aye, that’s better, t’was only a nightmare. Everythin’s alright, _a thasgaidh…”_ *  
  
He’s being kissed, petted and held. There are no harsh words, no unwelcome or painful touches, no snare or irritation in Chibs’ voice at all. There’s only care, only kindness and patience in his hands, his words and Juice starts to calm down, to reckognize his surroundings and feel his body again. He shivers as he becomes aware of the cool air from the slightly opened window, making his sticky skin form goosebumps.  
  
”N-need a… shower…”  
”Should I help ye?”  
  
He rather wouldn’t be helped, but when his vision is blurry and he feels unsteady just from sitting, there’s not that many choices unless he wants to try and sleep like this. Juice nods, barely even noticing the tears still streaming down his cheeks.  
  
”Please, Chibs…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My darling


	60. Chapter 60

Chibs has seen a lot. Some of it he’s deserved to bare witness to and some of it must be due to God’s punishment for his many sins. Juice’s body, with all the damages seen this close, pale little scars hiding a violent history only one who’ve lived it – or been a close witness to it in a medical way – can truly see the extent of. Juice’s chest and abdomen are maps over knife cuts, but more than that, healed bruises and fractures. They may not leave visible traces, but Chibs knows. He can feel where the damages have been, how big they were, from the way the kid tenses under his hands.  
  
He uses a washing cloth and some soap, working up some suds and starts washing Juice’s shoulders. The shower is small but it’s not a cabin, just a cheap drape around asloped floor with a drain, meaning Chibs can help without squeezing them both into a narrow space where they can’t move.  
  
Juice’s naked body doesn’t send any other signals to Chibs’ brain than anger and cautiousness. The kid sits on the floor, head leaning onto his knees for support as Chibs rinses the sweat off. He’s not thinking about the strange in the situation anymore, his whole mind set on doing the right thing in this specific moment, step by step. His own inner turmoil isn’t important now, all unnecessairy feelings out of the way as he soft and methodically helps Juice back to get rid of the nightmare. At least for now.  
  
When it’s done, Chibs is more or less drenched as well and he drapes a towel around Juice and makes a quick scan over the skin for signs of more damage, trying not to lean with his gaze between the legs, forcing the memory of Juice’s erection brushing against him in the park away. He makes sure the lad sits steadily in the corner, supported by two walls.  
  
”Gonnae get ye some clothes, kiddo.”  
”Thanks…”  
”And don’t get up without callin’ on me first, alright?”  
”Alright.”  
  
It’s barely audible. Juice must be completely knackered, no wonder, and Chibs scrambles to find clean underwears in the rigorously organized closet. Juice wants to dress himself and Chibs doesn’t argue, only leaves the bathroom door opened so he can hear if the kid needs help. While waiting, Chibs changes the bed sheets, warms some water for tea and lights a much needed smoke by the window.  
  
”Chibs…”  
  
The small voice trying to sound steadier than it is, makes Chibs squeeze the fag hard and put it out only half-finished. He walks back to the bathroom, relieved to find Juice dressed although still sitting on the floor, looking more like a wounded animal than a grown man, but with a self-ironic smile on the lips.  
  
”Gimme a hand, old man.”  
  
He sounds weak but the attempt to erase a little of the awfulness in the situation warms Chibs’ heart right now and he helps Juice to his feet, holding a firm grip around his waist and shoulders for support.  
  
”Ye alright, Juicyboy? Can ye walk?”  
”Think so. Could need a crutch though.”  
  
 A human one. Juice’s balance isn’t great right now and the short walk to the couch takes forever. Once the kid is sitting in the corner, Chibs brings him the cup with cheap tea.  
  
”Drink while it’s hot.”  
  
Juice takes a sip and wrinkles his nose at the taste.  
  
”God, that’s awful… You Brits are fucking weird, man.”  
  
Chibs laughs, more relieved than he wants to show, for seeing Juice coming back to normal again. The kid takes small sips of the tea, clearly needing the warmth despite the taste. Dyna seems to like that the humans are awake and jumps up between them before starting to knead Juice’s thighs, reminding Chibs of the damaged skin under the clothes.  
  
”Ye have any painkillers, Juice?”  
”In the bathroom. Over the sink.”  
  
Of course. Chibs doesn’t even ask if the kid wants any, he just goes to the cabinet and yes, there are painkillers as well as when needed meds for anxiety and depression, but they’re barely touched. He takes the painkillers and the jar with Promethazine and heads back to Juice.  
  
”Why are ye not takin’ yer prescriptions, lad?”  
”I did. Just not… anymore.”  
”Why?”  
”Uhm… You’re gonna kill me now…”  
  
Chibs snorts.  
  
”Doubt ye could gimme a reason worse than the others, kiddo. Spit it out.”  
”I… I don’t take’em because I… God… This is gonna sound so pathetic but I don’t think I… should.”  
” _Why?_ ”  
  
Juice mumbles something and Chibs gets irritated.  
  
”What? Why’s it ye don’t take’em?”  
”Penence…”  
”Penence?”  
”For what I did to the club…”  
  
It takes a moment for the whole madness, this utter fucking stupidity to sink in and when it does, Chibs is stunned, completely fucking stunned by the extent of the kid’s mess.  
  
He wants to scream at him, shake him, slap his stupid face, put him over his God damn lap and spank him so he can’t sit on his arse for a week because that’s the least this madness deserves. Instead, Chibs reads on the jars, opens them and takes out the prescripted dosis. He fills a glass of water and walks over to Juice, reaching him the pills.  
  
”Swallow. Now.”  
  
He doesn’t need to scream or even raise his voice. The tone apparantly is intimidating enough for the kid to obey immediately and he swallows the meds without a word. Once he’s seen the pills disappear to the right place, Chibs raises and goes to put the lights out in the bathroom.  
  
”Chibs?”  
”Not a word, Juice. Ye hear me? _Not a word_.”


	61. Chapter 61

The silence is different now. Juice lays with his face to the wall, slowly feeling the magic of the meds he’s been denying himself. Chibs surprisingly lays there as well, not holding him but he’s not left either and Juice is honestly amazed by that.   
  
He’s not realized how much shit hurt until now, when there’s relaxation inside out and his mind is mercifully swept in a blanket of painkillers and tranquilizers. So much tension has been bleeding from him since the shit started working, he almost feels high. He turns around, heavy but without the strain in his muscles, and looks at Chibs’ back and grey hair.  
  
”Chibbie…?”  
  
The man doesn’t answer and Juice tugs a little at the wife beater.  
  
”You still mad?”  
”Aye.”  
”Oh…”  
  
Juice lets go of him and Chibs sighs.  
  
”Ye’re feelin’ any better?”  
”Yeah. Sorry…”  
”Ye’re an idiot.”  
”I know.”  
  
Chibs turns to face him, propped on his elbow and his dark eyes slides over him. Juice feels a little drowsy and strangely awake at the same time. The man’s silence is a bit worrying too and Juice brushes his knuckles very lightly against his chest, although not speaking. He doesn’t know what to say, really, if there’s any need for it at all right now. He just knows it feels good not to be alone.   
  
The man’s face is difficult to read in the dusky room and when he raises a hand, Juice can’t help but flinch. But Chibs doesn’t hit him. He simply puts his callous palm on Juice’s cheek, stroking with his thumb.  
  
”Don’ know wha’ ye think skipping those meds will do for anyone, but lemme tell ye just how increadibly fucking stupid ye are, ye muppet.”  
  
Juice gives half a smile.   
  
”Aint gonna object. Or appologies. I don’t belong to anything or anyone anymore.”  
”No, ye don’t.”  
  
Chibs sighs, but he doesn’t sound angry, disappointed or contemptuous. It’s a simple acknowledge. Juice isn’t part of a club or a family, he has no connections or obligations tied to a mark and no one can force him to run errends, steal, wound or kill. He’s alone, yes, but he’s also free. That kind of freedom may taste bitter, but it’s no less real and who is Chibs to decide or judge what Juice is doing with it. Juice keeps looking at him, the face on the pillow next to him and feels the strokes on his cheek again.  
  
”We should sleep, Chibs.”  
”Think ye can now, lad?”  
”Hopefully.”  
  
He feels better. The nightmare has vanished from his thoughts, it doesn’t linger and he’s not as tense as before. And he’s got a warm body next to him. Juice bites his lip and looks down at his hands.  
  
”Chibs?”  
”Aye?”  
”Hold me?”  
  
He doesn’t want to ask, fears rejection but the meds and maybe the darkness make him bold. Chibs doesn’t answer and Juice tenses, afraid the man will simply turn around or even leave the bed. But then he feels the man’s arms around him, pulling him close with one of them under his neck and the other on his chest.  
  
The man he once betrayed holds him close, warms him with his body and Juice hums as he feels a small kiss on his neck vertebra.   
  
”Sleep, Juicyboy… I’m still here.”


	62. Chapter 62

He’s the idiot. Not that Juice isn’t one big fucking muppet, but Chibs is the one staying and that makes him the bigger one. The kid sleeps now, curled to a ball with that scrawny back pressed to him and far more relaxed. He’s seeking closeness, heat and tenderness like a kid or a cat, trusting Chibs to give it to him and he does. Because Juice needs it and Chibs needs to give it, because it’s fucking Juice.  
  
It’s hard to think with your mind when it says the same thing as your stupid heart. That this is good, this is the logical, reasonable and right thing to do. Juice has done his penence and not a single word of further treason has reached the club. He’s not even tried to join another club or any sort of group, which is more than strange considering how group orinted he is. But no, he’s not contacted anyone, just done his working hours and stayed with the cat in this gloomy room. Chibs was the one reaching out.  
  
Juice is in pain. Or at least he was. The number of healed wounds on his body is far from the worst Chibs has seen, but there’s just something tremendously depressing about them. Even if Juice hasn’t done that damage to himself in prison, he’s been shaped by it along with the ex-communication that really wasn’t official because Jax wanted him to kill for the club inside. It’s a no mans land and Juice needs to belong to something or someone. He’s not good on his own and uses it to punish himself.   
  
Chibs strokes the hand that is locked around his own, fingers entwined in a steady grip as if trying to keep him close, stop him from leaving. Tully reached out to Chibs when it was done, or rather when it didn’t go as planned. Telling him in that drawly voice that the green light had been carried out but unfortunately missed it’s goal by an inch, thanks to an observant guard and unsusually skilled doc at the sick ward. Chibs hadn’t asked him to do it again and before he even thinked about asking, Tully had declared it wouldn’t happen. One, it was risky since Juice already was under strict observation. Two, if the usual doc had been there, the kid wouldn’t have survived. Three, Tully was no goddamn genie for an MC leader committing suicide with his lame ass bike to avoid prison and four, Juice had gone into it willingly instead of trying to have Tully killed or cause more shit with the club or anyone else and Tully had fucking principles. Juice was his bitch and not Samcro’s concern anymore. Coming after the Aryan’s shot caller’s bitch was, to put it mildly, a really bad idea if Chibs and the rest of Samcro wanted to stay off more heat.   
  
Of course, the deal was for Tully to keep the rat in check and apparantly he did. When the shot caller was offed himself in some internal beef, Juice was at least seemingly so broken no one considered his connection to Tully a threat. After the failed stabbing, Juice has been the most anonymous connection to Samcro in any contex Chibs can remember in the club’s history. Dead silent about everything and everyone, himself included. No schemes, no deals, ink gone and the cops have left him emptyhanded ever since the stabbing. It’s like the kid’s gone from easily fooled, controlled and corrupted, to someone who just can’t be bothered anymore, except about not repeating history.  
  
Juice makes a small, worried sound in his sleep, like he’s about to fall into another nightmare and Chibs is drawn out of his thoughts, nuzzling the kid’s neck. The smell is sweet, sleepish and the small pit in the neck increadibly soft despite the tension.   
  
”Easy, lad… Ye’re dreamin’ again, t’is alright, lovey, I’m here with ye…”  
  
The words seem to get through the membrane of sleep and Juice comes to rest again, wiggles closer to Chibs and goes lax. Unfortunately, this has a most inconvenient effect on Chibs and he curses internally not to disturbe the kid again. Chibs is a fair man, at least he tries to be, and if Juice is suffering for his sins, it’s only fair that Chibs does it too for his own.  
  
It’s wrong. Not because Juice is a man, Chibs certainly doesn’t have any objections for people to fuck what they like as long as it’s consensual, but it’s one thing to be open-minded when you don’t have to be a part of it and a whole other thing when it collides with both your heart, mind and history at the same time. The homophobia, like the racism and misogyni, is something you use as a protection, without necessarily have any problems with other colors, women in power or guys taking it up the ass. Times are changing, after all, and Chibs is very aware of how stupid and dangerous it is to let yourself be lead by prejudices and habits.  
  
No, the reason why it’s wrong, is because it’s Juice. Unfortunately, that’s also what makes this feel good. Chibs isn’t sure why Juice stirrs up that kind of feelings within him, why it feels so bloody right to give in for the impulse to hold, cuddle and even kiss him. There’s been something missing ever since the kid’s betrayal, something vital but well enough hidden that Chibs could leave it be without putting a name on it. The loss of Juice has hurt him like an old, aching wound. Like his left knee that never really healed from that time he laid down his bike in a chase five years ago. It still hurts often enough, although not badly, to remind him of the accident.  
  
It’s like the way his lungs protest against the smoking, or his liver against the scotch. Like his heart stings whenever he sees a picture of Kerrianne, reminding him how fast time goes by and all the moments he missed out on. Not a pain that colors his days or haunts him, but it’s there, has carved out a place inside him and refuses to leave.  
  
”What am I to do with ye, Juicyboy…?”  
  
He murmurs into the soft skin, the line of hair and Juice sighs in his sleep.   
  
”Chibs…”  
”I’m here, lovey.”  
  
The kid goes silent again, breaths calm and even. Chibs closes his eyes, tries to find his reason, his common fucking sense, his loyalty to the club.  
  
”I love ye, Juice… Love ye so much… Don’t leave me again, ye idiot.”  
  
He doesn’t find any of it.


	63. Chapter 63

”Chibbie… Chibs?”  
”Mm… wha’?”  
”Breakfast.”  
  
Chibs reluctantly squints up from the pillow. Juice stands by the bed, dressed and the smell of coffee mixes with something sweet and furry, purring next to the pillow. Chibs looks down and frowns when he sees the yellowred kitten yawning at him. Juice smiles, Chibs can’t see it, and Juice takes the kitten.  
  
”Made you crambled eggs and toast.”  
”Me?”  
  
The Scot marks words and Juice returns to the counter to put two pieces of bread in the toaster.  
  
”Us. Made _us_ scrambled eggs and toast. And cheap ass coffee. Don’t smoke in my bed.”  
”I wasn’t gon…”  
”You were.”  
  
He doesn’t get an answer, which means Chibs of course reached for the package but wont admit it. Sometimes he’s so predictable their years together reminds of a long, half-bad marriage. Not completely bad, Juice has seen a whole bunch of examples of really ugly marriages, his own mom’s and stepfather’s being the first coming to mind. Juice silently pours up the coffee and splits the scrambled eggs in two exact portions, since Chibs will probably start whining about how little Juice eats otherwise. Better letting him have the leftovers once he’s more awake and doesn’t grouse about everything.  
  
”Ye’ve taken yer meds?”  
  
Shit. Juice shakes his head and prepares for a lecture. Chibs puts his jeans and hoodie on and blows out some smoke. He doesn’t say anything more, though, and Juice goes to the bathroom and takes out the prescripted dose, not even thinking of just pretending to. He goes back and holds his palm out for the man to see, before swallowing them with just a mouthful of club soda. Chibs’ eyes are incredulous and he doesn’t comment, but takes the cup of coffee and sips on it.  
  
It’s a silent breakfast and painfully familiar. It reminds of the time in the club, before all the shit happened, when Juice would sit with Chibs, sometimes just the two of them and sometimes the others, sipping on Bobby’s strong coffee the morning after a party. It also reminds of Stockton and how Tully would encourage him to eat more, with just one look and Juice would obey, simply because it didn’t matter anyway and he was so sick of fighting, of putting up a resistance all the fucking time. And then he thinks about all the lonely mornings in this place, and the ones that weren’t that lonely because of Dyna, who’s munching on her kibble on the floor.  
  
He eats in silence as his mind tortures him. Because this reminds too much of not being alone and it’s not as easy to pretend in the light of the morning, when you’ve borrowed closeness and comfort during the night and doesn’t know if it’s still there and if so, in what form.  
  
”How’re ye feelin’?”  
”Okay, I guess.”  
”Guess?”  
  
Juice sighs.  
  
”I don’t really know, man. ’M not trying to lie or avoid the question, I honestly don’t know right now.”  
”No pain?”  
  
That’s a bit surprising, because it sounds caring, not like Chibs is checking off a list with questions and Juice keeps his head down and shakes it. He’s not had questions like this outside a clinical context since Tully and what does that say about his life? That the last one who cared about him enough to actually being interested in the answer on a personal level, was a nazi who raped and tried to stab him? Juice even remembers the last time he asked how Juice felt, one night when Juice had gotten a serious migraine.  
  
Tully had wanted his ass as usual, but apparantly he didn’t enjoy making his punk miserable just for the sake of it. The shot caller had his own little stock of meds and gave Juice some strong painkillers. He even told the others on the block with that ice cold voice that didn’t need to be raised for people to listen, that they should shut the hell up because his punk had a migraine and Tully didn’t want fucking pukes all over the cell just because the block was a bunch of gossiping ladies.  
  
It was kind of him. It felt good getting the painkillers, hearing the stabbing noises turn into a still painful but far more manageable murmur and getting one of Tully’s shirts as a cover for the light. Juice had fallen asleep in Tully’s bunk that night, trying not to think about being fucked, but the older con left him be. Instead, Tully had held him and in the midst of pain and nausea, it had felt like a protection from the world. The only sliver of kindness left for someone like him.  
  
”Juicy?”  
  
Chibs’ voice calls him back to the present and Juice starts crying again. Mute and with his head down. _He’s so sick of crying._  
  
He’s not in for another lecture or even the usually comforting harshness in Chibs’ voice that always made him calm in the past. He doesn’t get it, though. Chibs leaves his place and simply squats down by Juice’s chair, leaning onto his side. The Scot snakes an arm around his waist, resting his head onto him and Juice can bend down his own face in the man’s hair. He’s shaking from the crying but still Chibs doesn’t talk, he’s just there, holding him in silence as the cheap coffee goes cold.


	64. Chapter 64

Sometimes the best you can do, is to sit in silence. This is one of those situations, Chibs figures. When someone cries like this, it’s not about being overly sensitive or childish, the time in the army tought him the difference pretty well. Juice crying in his hair, is the tears of a deeply sad and exhausted man who hasn’t been crying in a very long time. That is, previous to meeting Chibs again, of course. It’s not the kind of tears you can decrease with words of either comfort nor reason, because it’s more of a reaction to highly unexpected emotional stress than anything else.  
  
It’s a bit of an awkward position, but Chibs doesn’t want to let go. Juice needs this, probably even more than he needs the meds and whatever the kid’s life has looked like the past years, it’s been ugly as hell. How much penitence is enough in a mess like this, where Juice’s guilt is tangled up with good intentions, others schemes, his own stupidity and some damn unlucky situations?  
  
When the sobs starts calming down, Chibs looks up and takes the sticky face between his palms. Juice is red-eyed, of course, but he’s clearly not having a panic attack or anything and Chibs can’t stop himself from pressing a very, very soft, closed-mouthed kiss on his lips. Juice looks a bit surprised, but not as much as Chibs feared and the wet eyes are hard to read. The slightest hint of a smile curves his lips and Chibs gives him another peck, slow and careful, not sure where the line is or what would happen if crossed. They’ve already crossed it once and that was one hell of a ride Chibs sure as hell aint up for right now and Juice would probably get another panic attack from it.  
  
This isn’t like the moment by the lake, though. They’re only nibbling, not making out, not getting lost in it, but it’s not any less intense. Juice is tentative but not tense, not starting to cry again and it doesn’t feel like he will.  
  
The sweetness in the kiss is just as confusing as the rest of it. The fact that he’s kissing a man like this, that the man in question is a former brother, too young, a traitor and highly fucked up inside, still echoes in his head, but not as loud. The knowledge is there, he just doesn’t have any use for it. He can only stay in the moment, feel the warmth from those soft lips and listen to the way their breaths fall into each other, the sighs and barely audible sounds as Juice increadibly starts to relax.  
  
The kid comes off from the chair, keeping himself steady by holding onto Chibs’ shoulder and slides down on the floor next to him, wihtout parting their mouths. Chibs feels drunk, or high, unhinged but all the same very clear and aware of what they’re doing, of how Juice tastes, smells and feels like. How the skin forms goosebumps under Chib’s hands when he comes under the hoodie and t-shirt. How he lets Chibs pull him onto his lap, the smallest moan slipping his mouth as he sinks into place, straddling Chibs’ hips.  
  
”God, Juicy…”  
  
Chibs bites his lip and clutches Juice’s tense shoulders harder, fingers digging a little deeper into the flesh. Juice grinds against him, not particularly deliberate, but more as a given reaction to the closeness, rolling his hips, nuzzling down for another kiss, this time deepening it. It feels so good, despite the tension, the uncertainty and Chibs gives in to it, slides his hands all over Juice’s body, where knots and wounds are hidden but not forgotten under the skin.  
  
He feels strangely calm when Juice suddenly stiffens and the spine under Chibs’ fingers goes rigid. Instead of getting worried, Chibs simply relaxes and lets his hands fall back onto his own lap, resting on Juice’s thighs.  
  
”Juicyboy?”  
”Sorry…”  
  
Juice’s voice sounds so small and the big, brown eyes radiating with pain and fear. Chibs lifts his hand very slowly and places it on Juice’s own.  
  
”We don’ have to do any of this, Juicy. I understand.”  
”No, you don’t.”  
  
The kid shakes his head, so much pain in the manhandled body it’s hard to know what _doesn’t_ hurt. Some shit goes deeper than painkillers or sedatives can reach and Chibs knows logic doesn’t fix that, but a little goes a long way and he bends his head to nuzzle Juice’s nose.  
  
”Hey, look at me, lovey… T’is alright.”  
”It’s not alright.”  
  
Tears. Chibs honestly didn’t think there were any left. The human body is a fucking mystery sometimes.  
  
”Lemme hold ye, Juicyboy. Just hold ye?”  
  
Juice leans onto him again and Chibs makes sure their hips wont come too close. He holds the kid, rocking him a little in his arms.  
  
”Ye’re right, lovey. Ti’s not alright and I don’t understand. Not went through anything similar and I don’t share yer experience. But I do understand how it can be to loose what used to be the most important thing in life. And I know how the mind starts fucking with ye… This, whatever it is we’re doing in this mess, I’m not gonnae pretend it doesn’t scare the shite outta me, but I’d never hurt ye in any way, Juicy. Aint gonnae hold whatever we feel for each other, what _I_ feel for _ye_ , against ye.”  
”The club…”  
”Wont harm ye.”  
”What about you? You don’t think they’ll consider you seeing me as treason?”  
”I’m president, our VP is fucking a tranny and everyone but Happy and Ratboy are able to see that ye’ve paid for yer sins, lad. Not enough to be taken in again, but ye handled the cops better than most would’ve while ye were inside. Never snitched, never brought anymore heat to the club, held a low profile and got rid of the ink. And we also _know_ now that the situation ye were in, was a lot more complicated than we could’ve known. Doesn’t take away or excuse ye’re actions, but it does make’em far easier to understand.”  
  
Chibs smiles.  
  
”Aint sayin’ it wont be any heat at all, but as long as ye keep yer mouth shut and stay outta Charming, none of us are really breakin’ any rules or oaths.”  
”And how often can we see each other?”  
”Well… Unfortunately, we’ll have te abide by the circumstances.”  
”Meaning?”  
”Club business always come first.”  
  
Juice snorts.  
  
”Seriously? You’re telling _me_ how Samcro works? I didn’t forget how shit works just because I fucked up, Chibs. It was my family, man, and I’m not an outsider like ordinary people, I’m a fucking renegade.”  
  
Is he? Juice is still crying and Chibs holds him through it, not remembering why he shouldn’t or why, if he should give any comfort, isn’t his usual harsh, logical self. Comforting, yes, but not letting anyone cry too long. This kind of comfort is only for Juice and if he was a true renegade, Chibs wouldn’t be here, so logic and reason wont get him out, not this time. On the contrary, it pulls him further in. He strokes Juice’s head, places kisses on his neck and keeps holding him, not giving a shite about club business, their past or even his own still half hard cock. Reason, logic, emotions… They all tell him to stay where he is, to not let go of Juice and not falling for a desperately sad and lonely man’s ramblings about not being worthy to love and care for. Chibs sighs in the crook of Juice’s neck.  
  
”The club has a say in everythin’ I have a say in, Juicyboy. But _I_ don’t have a say in this... I couldn’t stop lovin’ ye when ye tried to end yerself or when ye betrayed us. Couldn’t stop it when ye survived prison or when I first saw ye again. Nothin’ ye’ve done or said, or what the club has done or said, will change wha’ I feel for ye. Aint gonnae plea for the club to take ye back, or say a word about it’s business to ye and if I see anythin’ even reminding of the reaper on ye or any of yer possessions, I’ll beat the shite outta ye. Again. But… I’d still love ye, no matter what…”


	65. Chapter 65

Chibs doesn’t lie. He never lied to him, never lied to anyone in the club and that’s why Juice believes him. It’s simply not Chibs to lie and he has nothing to gain from it anyway. The only sensible thing for Chibs, would be to either kill him himself, let someone else do it or ignore him completely. Chibs isn’t Jax. He doesn’t play games, doesn’t scheme and judging by what little news Tully passed on to Juice inside, things became so calm and quiet when Chibs took over, even the other quarters were shocked.  
  
Tully also, for some mysterious reason, didn’t let anyone use Juice to get their hands on club secrets. Cons, guards or cops, it didn’t matter. The nazi played a lot of roles with Juice: the rapist, the cellmate, the ruler but also the protector. When he died, Juice expected he would be next, but by then Stockton already knew that Tully never shared any business secrets with his punk and the first idiot who tried to take the nazi’s place as Juice’s top, ended up in the sick ward with cut popliteals. After that, Juice had been certain the retaliation would come sooner or later, most likely sooner, but it didn’t.   
  
Using him as a way to get to Samcro, running errends or even fuck him, didn’t seem to lay in anyone’s interest, especially not after the idiot with cut popliteals, a big and up until then not easily intiminated guy sentenced to life for murder, returned scared as hell in a wheelchair, requesting transfer to another cell. When Juice’s new cellie, a small, young guy doing his first time, arrived, the block took bets on how long he would last. Fact is, Juice didn’t touch and barely spoke to him. And no one from the MC tried to come after Juice after Jax used Tully.  
  
No, Chibs doesn’t lie and had Juice not been numb and partly dead already while inside, he’d been curious and most of all confused by the silence from the MC. With Tully gone, there was no one left to threaten the MC if Juice got hurt or killed, but by then Juice had gotten used to be left alone by others and didn’t seem to give a fuck. Simply put, if you couldn’t fuck him, there was no use for him and he was no threat to anyone. Not even the dumbest and most horny idiots at Stockton would risk their popliteals for a piece of unwilling ass when there were lots of far easier accessible meat around.  
  
Juice is only partly aware of how this long loneliness inside Stockton, maybe more than his history with Samcro or the time with Tully, has shaped him. He’s not afraid of anyone or anything, but his own loneliness anymore. That his life sentence to guilt and loneliness will be so much harder to go through than it already was before Chibs turned up.  
  
He’s not crying anymore, or rubbing like a desperate whore against Chibs. He also knows the man isn’t lying, but Juice still doesn’t believe him. Chibs is lying to himself even if he’s unaware of it, believing he loves a traitor, a rat, a pathetic prison slut and the idiot will fuck up his own life if this madness goes on. And still, being held by this man, a man Juice loved for years and still loves more than anything or anyone, is the only thing he can’t shut off. Chibs makes him feel, makes him long and that’s dangerous because it could lead to hope and hope makes people do desperate things. Juice sighs, face still leaning onto Chibs’ chest, the man still holding him in his arms.  
  
”I already almost ruined the club once, Chibs. If… if you keep seeing me without the clubs’ blessing, it will get ugly. If they find out you’ve kept me a secret, that their pres is seeing a rat behind their backs… Jesus Christ, Chibby, you hear how that sounds? Tig would burn us both alive and feed us to his dog.”  
”Venus wouldn’t allow that.”  
”I’m serious, man…”  
”So am I.”  
  
Chibs holds him tighter, ignoring the kitten who’s started to climb on their pile of sad bodies.  
  
”I’m only leaving if ye honestly don’t want anythin’ to do with me, not because of the club or yer own fuckups, but because ye don’t want _me_ , my sorry ol’ass personally in yer life anymore in any way. And don’t try to lie to me on this one, to keep me away, lad. Ye don’t get a say in the club’s business and ye’re not responsible for my fucking decision, ye miserable twat.”  
  
Dyna stands on Chibs’ knee and yawns. Juice can’t help but giving a small laughter and Chibs shakes his head.  
  
”Knew I never was a good speaker, but I never thought I’d be judged by a damn cat… Jesus Christ, what a morning…”  
  
That only sends Juice into a fit of weak laughters because this morning really is fucked up in so many ways and he feels completely gutted, torn between the emptiness he’s not seen an end to, Chibs’ headless declaration and the longing he thought had died in Stockton. Chibs doesn’t laugh but he smiles, that warm, weary, almost soft smile, where the exasperation is gone and all that’s left from it, is the exhausted confusion. _What am I to do with ye, Juicyboy…?_  
  
Juice wipes his face and swallows, still smiling after the laughters died out and he knows he sounds like a child but he doesn’t give a fuck. He takes hold of Chibs’ hoodie, clutching the soft fabric.  
  
”You realise I have a lot of shit to deal with, that follows me even without Samcro, right?”  
”Aye.”  
”I’m… I really don’t know how I feel anymore or what to do with my life and that wont change just because I can see you every now and then.”  
”I know.”  
”Wont just start eating like a horse, get normal sleep or… knowing what I want with… you know… whatever this thing we have is or isn’t…”  
”Well… I’m sorry ’bout that, kiddo.”  
”Don’t be sorry. Didn’t stop you, did I?”  
”No…”  
”And I didn’t want to stop. I panicked, but I didn’t… Look, I don’t know what it is but… I liked it. I like it, Chibs. Just… don’t know how to handle it right now. I’m barely handling myself.”  
  
Chibs strokes his cheek, his head, kissing it like he used to and once again rocks him in his arms.  
  
”Then we’ll have to figure something out, lovey. For a start, fattenin’ up yer bony arse…”


	66. Chapter 66

In a way, they are standing on the same spot as before and in another definately not. To not worry about Samcro is difficult because Juice clearly can’t stand being the reason for Chibs’ ex-communication and going from almost complete loneliness to Chibs’ arms is a shock to the system in itself for them both. Like some kind of business partners, they agree that of course they can’t be seen in Charming, that Juice can’t call Chibs and has to take his meds and try to eat.  
  
The last two things lie dangerously close to demands Chibs has no right to make but for his own part, he promises never to show up or leave unannounced. That he’ll call or text when he’s away and not leaving Juice with guessing. No one but the two of them will know and if the landlady starts asking too much, there’s always bribing.  
  
So far, so good. Juice seems if not happy so at least clearly calmed by this and to Chibs’ great relief, it’s not followed by another round of tears. It’s still a damn bizarre and awkward situation, Juice commuting between fear and melancholy, tension and whacked out exhaustion, occasional sobs and sunny smiles every fifteen minute or so, but Chibs figures there’s little or nothing for any of them to do about that, but letting it be. Juice will combust if there’s anything more added to this and Chibs isn’t sure he himself wouldn’t as well.  
  
Juice’s fear is everywhere. Inside his head and heart, stuck over his skin and running wild through his body. It sits in the depressing walls of his room and every single item in it except for that bloody cat and that’s the only reason Chibs tolerates the fur demon. It’s like Tig and that damn dog he brought with him from the fighting pit. No one really thought it was a good idea to bring the creature with them, especially not to the club house, but Tig and his fucking soft heart for animals that very rarely extents to two-legged creatures, won. If the kitten means something to Juice, it doesn’t matter if Chibs would hate it, because the kitten accepts, needs and loves the kid without restrictions or demands above being fed and cuddled. To Dyna, Juice could walk into a kindergarten and blow all the kids heads off with a machine gun and it wouldn’t matter as long as he came home to feed and pet her afterwards.  
  
At the moment, Chibs stands by the window with his fag and Juice is giving the cat some love, talking to it with a stupid, soft voice like it’s a baby or something and the kid doesn’t seem to give a fuck about Chibs hearing it or not.  
  
It’s a kinda sweet sight, if you’re able to forget about the conversation they’ve had, the gut-wrenching loneliness Juice has suffered and still does and the fact that he looks ill for real. Chibs puts his fag out and scrambles over to the kid, putting the back of his hand on his forehead and grunts.  
  
”Get another Advil and sedative and go to bed. Please don’t argue with an old medic, Juice, just do it, alright?”  
  
There are orders and orders. This one Juice doesn’t seem interested in bitching about, maybe because the idiot has enough braincells left to know it’s a good idea to not be in pain, or maybe he just knows it’s not a good idea to get into a fight about it, especially when they both know how it will end.  
  
The kid swallows the meds with some orange juice and indeed returns to the unmade bed, changing back into sweats and a tanktop before practically collapsing on the mattress. The kitten, of course, jumps up to him and gets under the covers, thinking it’s time to play with human toes. Juice whines.  
  
”Chibbie…”  
”What?”  
”Hold me…”  
  
No get the cat off the bed? Damnit. The idea of being the creature’s toy isn’t very tempting but clearly one of the things combined with being this close to Juice. Chibs curses internally and lies down under the blanket, careful not to accidently hurt the damn kitten – or the whiny kid.  
  
Chibs is physical when it comes to showing love, being it the friendship, lover or parent kind. It comes natural to him, touching the people he cares about and especially those he feels are in need of some kind of protection. Touching Juice far more than others in the club felt completely natural, because the kid needed it and honestly, Chibs needed it too.   
  
He spoons Juice carefully, getting an arm under his head as before and the kid wriggles back a little, showing a trust he really shouldn’t considering his time at Stockton but why the hell should Chibs be the only one throwing all logic aside? The cat being the asshole she is, starts walking over them, purring and kneading. Throwing her off the bed would probably lead to Chibs getting thrown off too and no, he doesn’t want that.   
  
Juice needs to rest as much as he needs to eat. He’s in a far worse shape than Chibs initially thought, even after deciding to stay with him and there’s really not much he can do if he doesn’t stay close to the idiot. Juice needs company, safety, comfort. A lot of fucking comfort Chibs isn’t sure how to give because he’s no bloody therapist and even if he was, Juice wouldn’t want him to be _his_.  
  
Still, despite the fear and their history, Juice snuggles into him so easily. His scent is sweet, the body heavy with weariness but also relaxation. He feels better with Chibs, no doubts about it, and Chibs tucks the man closer, brushing his mouth against the warm neck. Juice is a bit feverish and like hell Chibs is letting him sleep alone, leaving him to the nightmares with the risk of waking up alone with Chibs still sleeping on the mattress.  
  
His old Scottish ass will hate him for going back into a laying position again, but so what? Juice feels so much more relaxed, comfortable and he doesn’t grasp for Chibs in his half-sleep, afraid he’ll leave. That’s a pretty good step ahead and Chibs takes the opportunity to stroke Juice’s chest.   
  
”Rest, lovey… S’gonnae be alright, ’m gonnae take care of ye, ain’t leavin’ ye alone no more, _mo ghaoil_ …*”   
  
Juice smiles, eyes close and a soft hum from him tells Chibs he’s already on the verge of sleep.  
  
”Wha’s it mean…? Tha’word…”  
”T’is Gaelic.”  
”I know that, silly… What does it mean?”  
  
Chibs blushes, he didn’t count on this and he places another small kiss on Juice’s forehead.  
  
”Need to sleep now, Juicyboy. Ye’ve got a fever, lovey…”  
  
Damnit. Not again. But Juice seems more interested in being hold than learning Gaelic, thank God, and he curls himself like a kitten – with a real kitten resting on his hip. Too damn gooey but no one’s there to see it but Chibs’ own judging eyes and soon there’s a light snoring pairing up with the purring. Chibs mutters to himself.  
  
”Jesus Christ…”  
  
He’s so fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my beloved


	67. Chapter 67

He knows it the moment he opens his eyes. He’s not slept this well in ages. No nightmares, no tension, no freezing. And no prison alarm destroying a natural, slow awakening. His head feels a bit heavy from the meds, but not overly so and he has no pain. A bit stiff joints but otherwise, nothing.  
  
”Finally…”  
  
The voice coming from the room has him turn his head. Chibs is sitting on the small couch with a cup of what’s probably tea in his hand. The telly is on and the Scot turns it off and walks over to the bed, sitting on the side.  
  
”Thought ye’d gone seriously unconscious. Ye’ve slept almost twentyfour hours.”  
”Jesus…”  
”Aye. Ye were knackered, kiddo. Don’ think I’ve seen anyone sleep that hard since Bobby bought a new kind of weed and we thought he’d fell into a chomas. Made ye some coffee.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
Chibs scrambles over to the kettle and pours water in a cup he’s apparantly prepared in advance. Juice sits up and stretches out a bit, Dyna joining him and buffs her head onto his chest and arms. Chibs glares at her.  
  
”Yer lass hates me.”  
”Does she?”  
”Aye. Glaring like I’m a burgler or something.”  
”Attacking your feet?”  
”That too. How are ye feelin’?”  
  
Juice takes the offered cup and takes a small sip. It’s sweet and strong, too much of both but right now he needs it. He smiles at Chibs.  
  
”A lot better. Not slept this well since… I don’t even know.”  
”Good.”  
  
Chibs puts a hand on his forehead.  
  
”Seems like the fever’s gone too. Hungry?”  
”No, but I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”  
”It doesn’t.”  
  
He can’t help but smiling again and finally, Chibs does too. The kind of smile that reaches the brown eyes, slightly astute and just so very Chibs. Juice thought he’d never see that exact kind of smile again and he remembers something.  
  
”Never gave you an answer.”  
”Answer?”  
”Yesterday.”  
  
He bites his lip, looking down his cup.  
  
”You said you’d only leave if I didn’t want anything to do with you.”  
”So?”  
”I… I don’t want you to leave.”  
  
He swallows.  
  
”It’s not because I sleep better with you here or anything, I mean… I don’t want you here to take care of me. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but… Fuck, this is coming out all weird, man…”  
”Well, this is pretty weird, muppet.”  
  
Chibs smiles and Juice is helpless to those pepper dark eyes where he no longer sees that gut-wrenching disappointment and hurt or cold distance and disdain. There’s only warm kindness, worry and a slight confusion because they’re on some very unsteady ground here and Chibs may have better balance but he’s certainly not unaffected. Juice takes a deep breath.  
  
”What I meant was… I don’t want you to be here only because I’m a wreck right now. If you don’t… I mean, if I feel better…”  
”Hey…”  
  
Chibs places his hand on his cheek, stroking his thumb over the bone.  
  
”I’m here, because I _want_ to, kiddo. Because _I_ wannae be with _ye_. Aint gonnae try and figure out why or wha’it means yet, because I can’t, but… If ye don’t wannae be alone anymore, I’m here. If… If ye want me to.”  
  
Humans. So fucking fragile creatures. Juice takes Chibs’ cup and puts it and his own on the floor. He feels numb and stiff, scruffy and he really needs a shower but Chibs isn’t sensitive and Juice leans his forehead onto Chibs’, just holding still for a moment and then, easy as if there were never any boundaries at all, he kisses the man.


	68. Chapter 68

Reason. As in logic. As in motive. Excuse. Or fucking urges. Chibs isn’t some kind of saint or superman and he’s never claimed being in total control of himself. That would be illogical in itself and the only man who has no weaknesses at all, is a dead one. Chibs’ heart is still beating and the reason the usually so regular pace has changed rhythm, is called Juice and tastes like cheap coffee and sleepishness, fear and a longing Chibs wouldn’t dare to name.  
  
Juice is still partly covered by the blanket and Chibs is sitting on the bed. He’s not holding Juice too hard or close, just a hand on his lower back on the t-shirt, not letting it wander. Despite intiating the kiss, Juice feels very tense and Chibs holds himself back, making sure the man knows _he’s_ setting the pace, not Chibs.  
  
He likes making out, especially with a dominant woman who knows her shit, but this is… so fucking different. Juice is a man but has nothing of the challenging and confidant macho posturing, nothing of the false calm or teasing Chibs has played out himself and seen other men do with women. Neither is there any of the puppylike insecurity or shyness belonging to most guys early years or overwhelmed prospects meeting up with the crow eaters for the first time. The nervousness has nothing to do with fear of performing badly or general insecurity with something new, but utter and complete fear. Of himself, his emotions, Chibs and whatever demons causing Juice’s nightmares and tension.  
  
Chibs breaks the kiss very slowly and nuzzles Juice’s nose.  
  
”Ye okay?”  
  
A nod. Juice looks so nervous, his shoulders tensing and Chibs moves up his hands, brushing his knuckles over the sore muscles.  
  
”Aint goin’ any further, Juicy… Alright?”  
”Just this…?”  
  
Holy Mother of God. The voice… Chibs swallows hard. There are a thousand fears hidden in that question, those two little words, roots going deeper than Chibs can grasp right now, all of them going in so many different directions, leading back to different kinds of wounds and sources. Samcro, Stockton, family and whatever set Juice on this path to begin with. Wounds hidden so well over the years some of them might even have been secrets to Juice himself. Chibs still brushes his lips to Juice’s mouth.  
  
”Jus’like this, _mo ghaiol…_ ”*  
  
He can’t remember ever being this gentle with someone in this kind of situation. Or anyone being this gentle with him. Chibs loves women, by God how he loves them, all the hard-ass lasses with soft curves and wet pussies, tough hearts and intelligent minds he’s been ballsdeep into over the years. Intelligence is a turn-on for him, as is independency because this kind of life isn’t for lasses who want someone to protect them.  Just like too weak prospects, that kind of women wont make it. The women Chibs have been with, haven’t been in need of this kind of patience and gentleness. The men he’s been around, most certainly haven’t, at least not openly. Juice, on the other hand, bleeds with this particular need: slow, patient gentleness in every way.  
  
His taste, his smell, the warm skin, the little noises he makes, all of it makes Chibs forget about women, treason and the MC. It takes several moments before they finally part, breathing slowly to trick hearts and running thoughts to calm down. Chibs has his eyes closed, sliding his cheek onto Juice’s, bending down onto his shoulder and it’s only now as he realises how hard he is, cock straining in his jeans and he tries to adjust the fabric, getting a bit more comfortable. A small moan from Juice makes him stop and pull back a little. Juice’s eyes are wide as saucers but there’s no fear in them, only lust and anticipation.  
  
Chibs knows he should ask, use fucking words but he just nailes Juice’s eyes with his own, holding their gazes connected as he slips his hand down the waistband of Juice’s sweats, cupping the hard lenght outside the boxers and Juice grabs him by the wrist, moving him under the second waistband.  
  
They both moan as Chibs starts stroking him. It’s slow and deliberate, no rush what so ever and Chibs knows this isn’t what he should want, or at least not what he usually wants but there’s only so much assault on the sences one can argue against for this long and reason, logic, motives and excuses all melt down to this urge to be with, touch, feel and have Juice in any way possible, any way offered by the man himself right now.  
  
”Come here…”  
  
The kid pats the bed as Chibs moves up, closer, to a more comfortable position. Juice tugs at the buttons in Chibs’ jeans, works them open and spits in his palm before closing it around his cock. The slightly slicked, callous hand is like a hot glove of friction around him and it needs no guidance opposed to the hand of a woman who’s mouth indeed can be amazing but never really knows how Chibs likes it with a hand. Juice knows, he knows exactly and Chibs bites down a curse as he bucks up into the fist.  
  
In his mind, the hand is replaced by a tight, hot hole riding his cock. Chibs has gone backdoor with women often enough to know exactly how much potential it has to be good with Juice, at least in theory, and Chibs’ mind is quickly turning this into that ass bouncing on him. He barely notices how Juice places Chibs’ hand on his own cock, until he feels how wet it is, how much the kid is leaking and it goes straight to his cock just like the feeling of a wet pussy around his fingers would.  
  
Juice is panting a little too fast and Chibs remembers about not rushing things. He stops stroking and looks at the kid.  
  
”Ye’re okay with this?”  
”God yes… ”  
  
Juice voice is a bit strained but he doesn’t look like he’s in pain and he keeps stroking Chibs in long pulls, just a little too loose, making him leak and shudder because for some reason it’s _that_ good and Chibs can’t help but grabbing Juice’s hand, keeping it still while shoving his hips up, mindlessly fucking the fist and he comes closer with every stroke from the chapped palm.  
  
He spills over Juice’s hand with a long moan and he hisses as he feels a tongue swirling down his bellend, licking over the slit.  
  
”Jesus Christ, Juicy… C’mere, let an ol’man catch his breath…”  
  
Juice smirks and Chibs hauls him close to kiss him, the kid’s cock still hard and wanting, brushing against Chibs’ belly. Chibs starts fondling him again, smearing the precum all over the shaft and it doesn’t feel the slightest strange or off-putting, jacking another man off like this. Juice’s pleasure is written all over him, how he shuts his eyes, breathes and the way his abdomen moves.  
  
It’s fucking mesmerizing in a way it just shouldn’t be, seeing, touching and feeling him moving closer and closer. Juice is lost, only chasing pleasure now and Chibs sees the very moment he starts to come, the way those soft lips fall slightly apart, eyelashes fluttering and the breathy gasp as he squirts all over Chibs’ fist, no pain, fear or shame reaching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my beloved


	69. Chapter 69

”Coffee’s probably gone cold now…”  
”Aye. Tasted like shite anyway.”  
  
Chibs blows out some smoke and nods at Dyna, who’s laying on the floor with her paws tucked under her belly, like a loaf, squinting at them.  
  
”She’s judging me.”  
”She’s a cat. They’re supreme creatures and have every right to judge us.”  
”And they know it too. Little bastards…”  
”You prefer dogs? They even like Tig.”  
”Who doesn’t?”  
  
They both laugh a little, mostly smirks and Juice ashes in the can. His lips are sore and he’s very grateful that their minds worked enough for them to wash the worst stickyness off before retreating to some much needed nicotine. Apart from the aspect of comfort and cleanliness, it feels less vulnerable. He’s not sure why, but if Chibs snaps and wants to leave, it would feel worse if there were still traces of him on Juice’s skin.  
  
The Scot looks calm and he’s not moved away from him or zipped his jeans, only pulled them up. Juice strokes a finger over the belly and gets a glare.  
  
”If ye tell me I’ve lost weight, I will punch ye.”  
”But you have.”  
  
Juice smiles and shakes some ashes in the can. Chibs just snorts.  
  
”Jesus Christ…”  
”You’re seeing anyone?”  
”Seeing?”  
”You have an old lady?”  
”If I had, ye really think I’d be here then?”  
   
Juice shrugs.  
  
”What happens on the road stays on the road, right? Aint that still the policy?”  
”Aye, but I’m not on the road, kiddo.”  
”But you have to leave sooner or later.”  
”Forgot wha’ I told ye already? I’m not leavin’ ye. Not, like that anyway. Have my own things to do, but I’m coming back. Ye asked me to and I want to, so no more worryin’ ’bout that, muppet. Okay?”  
”Okay.”  
”And no, I don’ have an ol’ lady except for Fi and she’s in Belfast on a very comfortable distance for both of us.”  
”Not my business.”   
”Then why asking?”  
”Want to know if I should expect some violant woman coming after me.”  
”If ye tell anyone ’bout this, ye’ll have a violant Scotsman comin’ after ye.”  
”Like I couldn’t figure that one out by myself.”  
”Juicyboy…”  
  
Chibs sighs and pulls Juice down to rest his head in his lap. He strokes the black hair and Juice prays to a god he’s not really believing in, to not make him cry again. The fingers are kind and what little time he’s had with Chibs again after prison, hasn’t been enough to get used to them. The touch is so sweet, gentle and far too easy to get addicted to.  
  
”Can I help ye out with anythin’? I mean, practical stuff.”  
”Like what?”  
”Don’know… Gas, food…?”  
”You mean money?”  
”Aye. Guess I do. Ye have minimum wage, right?”  
”Of course. But I don’t even have a vehicle, you know, so I really don’t need much.”  
”Until ye need another prescript… Or other stuff.”  
”Can’t buy illegal drugs, Chibs. I have to do those piss tests and if I don’t buy the prescripts the doc will know when I suddenly don’t need to renew them. Miss Holland pays me a little under the table for cleaning, but I’ve not really been in shape for that now.”  
”What about clothes? Phone, shit like that?”  
”You’d borrow me money, is that what you’re saying?”  
”Not borrow, givin’.”  
  
Juice looks up at the scarred face.  
  
”Can’t take money from you, Chibs. It’s not right.”  
”Why not? ’Cause ye’re no longer in Samcro?”  
”Exactly.”  
”Ye’re gonnae use’em to conspire against us?”  
”If you thought I would, would I still be alive?”  
  
Chibs puts his fag out in the can and leans down. His brown eyes are serious and he’s got bags under them.   
  
”No. But I don’t think ye will.”  
”You’re sure?”  
  
It’s an honest question. He’s not saying it to challenge or warn the man and Chibs seems to understand that because he just sighs.  
  
”Nothin’s certain, kiddo.”  
  
The man pets Juice’s hair again.  
  
”Can I come back tonight?”  
”If you want to…”  
  
He’s not gonna sound needy or desperate again, although it might be far too late to put that defence up. The thought of not having to sleep alone, to have someone holding him through the nightmares is far too tempting. Chibs may or may not understand that too, but he plants a shallow kiss on Juice’s forehead.  
  
”Tonight then, Juicyboy.”


	70. Chapter 70

He’s been absentminded the whole day and he knows Tig and Chucky have noticed it, probably others as well. Not that Chibs hasn’t done his job or lost focus, but he’s been a bit distracted. T.O. is the first to react for real, simply because he’s tried to get Chibs’ attention three times before the pres looks up from the columns. Doing calculations isn’t Chibs’ favourite thing in the world to begin with and that it’s almost seven o’clock and he’s had too little coffee , isn’t helping. T.O. has an amused look when Chibs finally notices him.  
  
”I could come back later, pres…”  
”No. Sorry, brother, these numbers are killin’ me. Wha’s on yer mind?”  
”Got a call from Gaines. Indian Hills has a couple of fresh prospects.”  
”And?”  
”Gaines wants our help with background checks.”  
  
Chibs raises his eyebrows.  
  
”Background checks?”  
”Yeah, the freshies apparently served time with McGee and were supposed to join Sambel but left Belfast for some reason McGee didn’t want to share with anyone but you.”  
”And now they’re in Nevada, trying the Hills instead and _I_ need to call Belfast because that fuckin’ carrot needs to speak to a fellow Scotsman instead of a mick?”  
”Aint racism beautiful?”  
  
T.O. grins at him and Chibs lights a fag.  
  
”Gives idiots a purpose in life. Anythin’ more I need an update on?”  
”Venus’ birthday.”  
  
Judging by T.O.’s laughter, the look on Chibs’ face is as startled as he feels and his brother shakes his head.  
  
”Chucky told me. I think he’s the only one keeping track on that kind of shit.”  
”That’s a relief. Don’t need a reminder of how close to death I am. How’s this my concern?”  
”She’s an old lady, or at least as close as she could be to one, right?”  
”I guess… Yeah, she is. So?”  
”We do celebrate our old ladies birthdays, don’t we?”  
”Unless we want our balls cut off, aye. I’ll talk to Tig. And call Belfast. Ye kids think ye’ll be able to stay alive without me babysittin’ yer arses tonight?”  
”Busy again?”  
” _Aye._ ”  
  
He sounds a little sharper than he intended and T.O. holds his hands up.  
  
”Aint snooping, pres.”  
”Good. If ye see Tig, tell’im I need to see him before chapter tomorrow. Not tonight, though. These numbers will be my death…”  
”Sure thing. See you tomorrow then.”  
  
He waves at the door and T.O. leaves, still visibly amused. Chibs starts cleaning up the desk and turns the computor off. He doesn’t like desk jobs but it has to be done and his body probably thanks him for sparing his joints and back a little. Thirty years on a bike, not to mention lots of fucking violence and stress has taken it’s toll on Chibs’ body and his joints crack like they’re breaking when he stretches out and puts his hoodie and cut on. He’ll take the latter off on the road, once he’s out of sight and it’s wrong and he’s ashamed of himself for doing it, but right now it’s either that or not seeing Juice. Right now, Chibs is in no shape to choose principles over him.


	71. Chapter 71

The day’s been shit. Juice kicks his shoes off and lifts up Dyna, who’s at least happy to see him for real. Nothing’s happened really, at least nothing serious, but he still feels like crap. An unsupervised toddler who’d just learned how to open sodas and loved to see the bubbles, managed to spill out three cans of cherry flavoured Dr. Pepper’s on the floor and then having a tantrum when Juice started to mop the mess up, because he wanted to drink it. From the floor.   
  
That wonderful little incident ruined Juice’s lunch break and between that and reporting himself to the cops, he had far too many deliveries to snobbish customers in fancy houses with swimming pools outside town.  Apparantly everyone was out of diapers, minced beef, dog food and silver polish at the same time. Who the fuck except excentric old ladies, upper class wives and polishes silver anyway? Fucking mystery.  
  
Dyna purrs loudly and meows. Her bowl is empty and Juice lets her down to refill it and then taking care of the litter box. He then washes up a little and puts the work clothes on a hanger, changes to a tank top and then, out of the blue, starts crying.  
  
He sinks down on the bed, not even sure what he’s upset about and not really wanting to find out either. It’s enough to know it’s most likely about Chibs, at least for most part. This goes far deeper than a weird need or sudden, unexpected crush. Whatever it should be called, this connection between them, it has roots going in lots of directions and on different levels, not all of them pleasant. Treason costs and Juice isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to make it right. And even if he could, it doesn’t mean he can… _have_ Chibs.  
  
The phone beeps and Juice opens the message. It’s from Chibs, who else, saying he’s on his way with dinner and will be at Juice’s place in about five minutes.   
  
That should help him calm down, but no. Juice just cries worse because all this sudden kindness is too good to last and he needs it, craves it like a fucking junkie and it will end badly, that’s for sure because ruining shit is the only thing besides computor stuff that Juice is really good at. He tries to calm down as much as possible, swallowing the lump in his throat, splashing cold water in his eyes and just get a fucking grip of himself. Dyna needs attention too and Juice plays with her while waiting for Chibs.   
  
The kitten seems to prosper enough, because it’s putting on some weight and is very affectionate, doesn’t pee in the wrong places or has any fleas. Being all alone during the day can’t be that fun though, even if Juice leaves the window open enough if she wants to go out. Taking care of her really is the only truly important thing he’s doing. She’s just a baby and would probably die fast or at least get badly treated on her own. Not that the world would care but the little creature does.   
  
Juice sits with her on the floor, throwing a piece of paper tied onto a string of yarn. Apparantly the most awesome thing ever when you’re a kitten. Juice goes up in the game too, so much he jumps when a familiar knock on the door interrups them. Ignoring the sudden sense of warmth and calm is futile and when Juice opens and sees that, yes, it’s Chibs and the man has a plastic bag with something for dinner, he practically drags him inside and locks the door. Chibs chuckles.  
  
”Missed me?”  
  
Juice doesn’t answer, just takes the dinner bag away and pulls Chibs into a hug. He knows it’s needy and stupid, but he can’t help himself. He wants this, simply has to feel that scent of musk, leather and soap close and pretend this is something real. He can feel how Chibs slides his hand over his back, pulling him closer and kissing his crown, then his forehead and a moment later their mouths find each other and maybe that’s just how it is right now because none of them actually steer it in this direction, it just happens.   
  
Kissing Chibs is… Just so fucking different. It makes Juice feel small, but not in a bad or weird way. Those arms holding him steady, the broad frame, the scarred skin… In this moment it feels like this is all Juice’s to have, like Chibs was just waiting for him and those are dangerous thoughts he shouldn’t feed. When they break, the Scot has a slight blush on his cheeks, like he’s been caught off guard. He strokes his thumb under Juice’s eyes.  
  
”Don’t think I’m letting ye off dinner, kiddo.”  
  
Juice smiles a little, knowing more than well this is Chibs’ way of moving to steadier ground.  
  
”Wouldn’t dream of it, old man.”


	72. Chapter 72

Juice has been crying. He’s tried to hide it, but the eyes betray him and Chibs decides not to bring the subject up. The plastic bag contains jacket potatos with tuna fillings and Juice’s surprised look makes him grunt.  
  
”Fast food doesn’t have to be greasy.”  
  
The kid doesn’t answer that, just brings them forks and knives and a beer for Chibs, club soda for himself, probably not trusting his emotions even with the slightest amount of alcohol in the system now. Chibs doesn’t comment that either.   
  
They eat by the small telly, watching some shitty sitcom Chibs barely follows as he wolfs down the dinner. Juice eats far slower, but he does eat and Chibs pretends it doesn’t make him feel so damn relieved just as he pretends the kiss didn’t make his heart flutter. Juice isn’t the only emotional wreck in here, but that doesn’t mean Chibs will let it show.  
  
About three quarters is gone when Juice puts the food away. Not enough for a grown man and definately not enough for the old Juice who would’ve finished that potato in five minutes and gone for seconds. He looks anxious when he crawls up on the couch and Chibs only rubs his shoulder, a silent confirmation that he knows this is all Juice can manage right now and that he wont fuss about it. The kitten has finished her own bowl with tuna but still looks longingly for human leftovers. Juice lifts her up, tucking her to his chest with a little smile Chibs almost wishes he didn’t see, because it holds so much of the old Juicyboy, who had a place, could be trusted and was simple to love. Or at least simpler than now.  
  
Chibs follows Juice with his gaze as he wraps plastic over the leftovers and puts it in the less empty but still rigorously neat and clean fridge. The only personal sign of Juice in this depressing room is how well-cleaned and organized it is. The kid doesn’t have confirmed OCD and to be honest, it rarely showed outside domestic areas, but there is no doubt something obsessive about his way of keeping order. Maybe it’s just about keeping himself busy or perhaps get a sense of control. Meds or not, he looks so tense not to mention tired and when he’s finished the dishes, he leans onto the sink again. Chibs leans back on the couch.  
  
”C’mere, lad.”  
  
Juice’s body feels like a heavy doll when he lays down with his head in Chibs’ lap. The short hair suits him and Chibs pretends he doesn’t think about that as he starts scratching the kid’s head and neck, almost on instinct.   
  
It’s not easy to see the traitor in him right now, the coward who betrayed them, but it’s been the image Chibs has had for a long time and it just doesn’t go away in a few weeks time. It would’ve been far easier if there was the slightest chance Juice had lied again, but Chibs can swear on his old, cynical heart the kid isn’t even capable of lying to him about this. And sad bastard or not, it’s painfully clear that Juice feels so much more… _pure_ is the wrong word but in the same time not, when he no longer has to carry around other peoples secrets and constantly compromise with not only the club but himself. Betrayals cost and maybe it’s the fact that Juice, according to Tully, went to meet Mr. Mayhem with calm and dignity, that he doesn’t try to take the cowards way out again or let anyone use him as a tool. Maybe it’s that he spent those three years in dead silence, showing cops, guards and cons that he was no threat to anyone, that he couldn’t be bribed, threatened or convinced to run anyone’s errends anymore.  
  
Maybe that’s why Chibs can’t just shrug off Jax selling out Juice to Tully, or that Gemma more than well knew that Juice, who accidently walked in on her while sitting with Tara’s corpse, was left with a horrible choice and easy to persuade. There is simply too many layers, too many horrible decisions made by too many people in this mess, to make a final, truly righteous decision. No matter how Chibs chooses, how Juice chooses, someone will feel betrayed and there will be a price to pay. But this time, it shouldn’t be Juice who gets to pay for it. Not alone.  
  
The man in his lap sleeps but Chibs can’t stop petting him. He’s always been a physical person, naturally affectionate and touching friends and family is just Chibs way. _Not_ touching Juice would feel wrong. Unnatural, even. Also, it’s so clear the kid hasn’t had much of the good kind of touches in a very long time. If Tully was the last one to touch him kindly – between the rapes – it means that Juice has been about as lonely as a con not belonging to a gang or having a family can be. The thought of his old Juicyboy, whatever is still left of him, being that fucking lonely and still keeping his mouth shut about the club for so long, probably waking up each day surprised he did wake up at all and then just carry on with the guilt, the loneliness, the shame…  
  
Chibs swallows hard. He’s called Juice weak, a coward. The whole club did and although they should’ve known it wasn’t that simple, nothing ever was in those crazy days, they judged him by the knowledge they had back then. You’re only human, after all and now, with that weary head in his lap, Chibs can admit to himself a part of him was relieved when Tully declared there would be no second try, no matter if Samcro voted for a second Mayhem. Knowing that Juice was still alive, not because he’d ratted on anyone again or tried to run and hide, but simply because one guard was particularly observant during the riot and the one really good doc at the prison clinic worked that day.  
  
Coincidences made Juice betray the club and coincidences made him survive. The kid has paid the price in full, he just doesn’t know it yet and Chibs isn’t sure he’ll believe it if told. Juice isn’t strong enough, hasn’t the right kind of inner strenght to believe there’s something more to his miserable life than just getting by, surviving on other peoples scraps of kindness, thrown to him without any predictability or real purpose.  
  
And Juice doesn’t know how many years Chibs secretly longed for him, how he barely dared to form that longing in words even in his head, afraid they would mean exactly what they meant and somehow leave that hidden place. Juice has no idea how Chibs feared rejection, how the thought of seeing disgust in the kid’s face would leave Chibs with an aching chest, head and stomach. How Chibs then would play his usual game with the crow eaters, jovial and straight forward, declaring his love for tits and pussy and never be one of those brothers who were chained by an old lady. Fiona didn’t count, she was in Belfast and shagged whomever she wanted, not caring the slightest about where her only-on-paper husband put his dick. She probably wouldn’t care now either.  
  
Juice moves a little and when Chibs strokes his cheek, he opens his eyes. They’re dark, almost black and have almost lost the puppylike features of confusion and insecurity Chibs once fell head over heels for, without even realising it. But they’re still beautiful. Sad, tired and with the old layers of protection coming off, just so fucking lonely and so damn beautiful Chibs can’t bare to see them without doing anything.  
  
He cradles the head in his hands, not talking or even smiling. He just looks, just feels the stubble on the chin and under the nose, the soft lips and still slightly sticky cheeks. Juice doesn’t close his eyes, keeps looking straight at him, not challenging, anxious or even broken and indifferent, but just calm. Calmy awaiting for Chibs to decide if the respond to that earlier kiss meant something or not.   
  
Again, it feels so different. He’s kissed the boy a lot by now, but never this soft and easy. Never without this lack of worry or insecurity from both of them. He _wants_ this, _Juice_ wants this and it feels, tastes in the kiss. Chibs hair hangs loose and tickles Juice’s face, the kid tangles his hands in it, tugs it a little in a grip that tries to not turn too eager. Chibs can’t help but moan in the kiss, he’s getting hard and with all the fucked up turns he’s experienced this far, he too could really use some assurance now. He takes Juice’s head between his hands again and pulls back.  
  
”Ye’re sure about this, Juice?”  
  
Juice swallows, clearly not sure how to answer and Chibs strokes his hair, trying to find words himself to fill out the silence.  
  
”I… Ye decide, _a thasgaidh_ …”*  
”What does it mean? That word…”  
  
Chibs really only has himself to blame for this. He had it coming and he blushes.  
  
“Darling…”  
  
He barely dares to look at Juice now and he can feel how the man’s breath goes strained.  
  
“That’s what you call women?”  
  
_Ah._ Chibs keeps petting the hair and brushes a thumb over Juice’s mouth.  
  
“Only one, a long time ago.”  
“Fiona…?”  
“Aye.”  
  
Chibs’s heart is on his sleeve now, so damn vulnerable but it’s the only way. He closes his eyes, not sure where to look and then Juice snakes his arm around his neck and pulls him down. This kiss is also different. Still a bit fragile, but so full of longing, of clear, simple wanting and relief there’s no longer possible to misinterpret neither Juice’s nor his own intetions. Juice pulls him down, clings onto him and Chibs is so lost to it, he can’t even find words in his head to pretend he's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my darling


	73. Chapter 73

He’s fucking fluttering. Somehow, in some way and for some fucked up reason, Chibs keeps his head on his lap, kissing him over and over like there’s no hesitation left. Like Juice is actually alive and it feels good, so good he can’t even bother to feel ashamed of how he’s clinging onto the man, arms wrapped around his neck like some teenage girl. Chibs’ right hand is stroking his chest, petting all over his torso but not touching skin and Juice scoots his hoodie up, giving the permission Chibs asks for without words.   
  
He can’t remember being touched like this by anyone else. Chibs’ hand smoothes over his chest, rubbing thumbs over his nipples and Juice moans helplessly from it. He can feel the man’s jeans clothed erection on his cheek and he nuzzles it as Chibs slides down to rub his cock in the grey pants and Juice lets out another moan, pressing against the palm. The touch gets lighter and he grabs the hand.  
  
“Don’t stop… I… I want this, ‘m sure, Chibs… ‘M sure… You…? You want to…?”  
  
The Scot looks like he’s about to spit one of his usual, harsh teasings out, but he squeezes Juice’s hand and moves the other in a circle on his belly.  
  
“Aye… But I’m not gonnae… uhm…”  
“Fuck me?”  
“No, I wont.”  
“Thanks.”  
  
That was the wrong thing to say and Juice shuts his eyes, covering his face with his palms.  
  
“God, Chibs, I didn’t mean to… That just came out so…”  
“Hey, look at me… Juicyboy, look at me…”  
  
Chibs gently moves Juice’s hands and smiles.  
  
“Ye know wha’ I said to a lass once, balls-deep inside of’er?”  
“What?”  
“Ye sound like my mother.”  
“ _Seriously_ , dude?”  
  
Juice laughs and Chibs raises his eyebrows, smirking.  
  
“Aye. And ye know the worst thing about it? T’was absolutely true and I wasn’t even drunk. Poor lass really sounded like my mother… Still grateful she didn’t cut my dick off before leaving. So… don’t worry, Juice. Have both said and heard _a lot_ worse and I understand wha’ye mean, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
  
He strokes Juice’s cheek, bends down to kiss him, and Juice feels the tension fall off, little by little along with the fear and insecurity. Like tiny drops of ice melting and dripping along his spine, releasing his frozen muscles again. He reaches his arms up, around Chibs’ neck and the Scot carefully arranges them so that he’s laying down with Juice like a human blanket on top of him.  
  
It’s almost too much, too big a difference from the long time of loneliness. Chibs’ hands are gentle but determined and linger at Juice’s ass, squeezing and rubbing it but not trying anything more. Juice really can’t remember if being fucked ever felt good, only that Tully never was unnecessairily rough with him and used lots of lube. The memory of the last intimate kindness anyone showed him before this thing with Chibs happened, is suddenly overwhelming in it’s contrast and Juice feels like he’s about to combust or worse, but before that happens, Chibs starts stroking his shoulders again.  
  
“T’is alright, lovey… I know ye’re not really… _well_ , kiddo. Can just hold ye like this for a while, if ye like…?”  
“Please…”  
  
He’s afraid he’ll start crying if he tries to explain but the man doesn’t ask anything more, just keeps caressing him but not below his waist. It’s so new, all of this, the way someone’s this careful with his body. It’s as if Chibs wants to be sure there are no hidden wounds to accidently touch or grab too hard and it’s confusing as hell but Juice feels like he’s fluttering.   
  
Chibs’ kisses feel like he really likes this, not only as something on the way to the goal of getting off. He brings his entire self into it, explores Juice’s mouth, slow and skillful, practically turning Juice to putty on his lap. Juice moves the hands further down with a moan and Chibs squeezes his hips, his ass like he’s kneading a fucking bread dough – although a not very big or soft one – and it feels damn amazing. They grind their hips together, slow but hard and it sends ripples of increased lust through Juice’s entire body, tangling up with the taste of Chibs’ mouth, the sense of safety that’s probably an illusion but feels so real Juice can’t deny himself to dive into it.  
  
Chibs starts removing his own hoodie and Juice tugs at the wife beater, pulling it over the man’s head before scrambling to undress his own upper body. He’s still not sure where this is going or what he wants in the end, just that he needs more. Chibs sighs as they come together, skin touching skin.  
  
“Juicyboy…”  
  
Nothing more, it’s a mixture between a sigh, a moan and a plea Juice can’t answer, at least not in words. All he can do is wrapping his arms around the man again, pulling him tight in a hug. Chibs holds him firm but so soft and Juice buries his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
“Don’t leave me…”  
  
He’s not thinking about what he’s saying, it just slips out and Chibs nuzzles his ear.  
  
“I’m not leaving, won’t leave ye, _a thasgaidh_ …”*  
  
The man moves all along his jaw, from the ear to his chin, moving up to nibble his lower lip and kisses him again, still slow but the shiver from his lips betrays him, shows that he’s holding back for Juice’s sake, to make him feel safe.  
  
“Juicy, darling… my little darling… I’ve got ye, don’ worry, baby…”  
  
Chibs’ voice has gone thick and heavy, maybe he doesn’t really know what he’s saying either and all Juice knows now, is how hard they both are, how wet his own shorts has become and he tugs at his buttons, then Chibs’, taking their cocks in one hand because there’s really no shame or hesitation left right now.   
  
“ _Jesus Christ…_ ”  
  
Chibs sounds like he’s about to choke, but he bucks his hips up and Juice knows this shouldn’t feel so damn good, rubbing cocks like this because he’s not… never fucking mind what. Chibs has swirled his own hand around Juice’s and they’re actually doing this, easy as breathing, stroking each other together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and they’ve only not done it earlier, due to lack of opportunities. As if this unnamed longing has been there the entire time, only never noticed before and now as it’s gotten their attention, simply drags them along.  
  
Juice tries to muffle his moans in Chibs’ hair, not that there’s anyone listening but the kitten who’s probably hidden somewhere to escape the weird humans. All of this is threatening to become too much to him again and the fact that his hand is entangled with Chibs’ now doesn’t help. Juice can feel how his balls are pulling up tight and unless he moves it’s gonna be messy. He mumbles incoherently in Chibs’ ear.  
  
“Wha´?”  
  
The man’s voice is strained and Juice pants.  
  
“Gonna come soon…”  
  
Instead of pulling away, Chibs nibbles his earlobe again, sounding all husky now.  
  
“Then come, baby… Lemme see ye come…”  
  
That makes Juice loose what little dignity he’s tried to maintain and he practically clutches Chibs’ neck, muffling his whine on his shoulder, teeth sunken into the flesh as his balls start pulling up and then climax hits him, runs through his wreckage of a body like fucking lightning and when he feels Chibs’ cum mixing with his own, he no longer knows if he’s silent or not, just floating in the odd and short moment of sudden, indulgent bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my darling


	74. Chapter 74

The kid is… calm? Relaxed? Chibs isn’t entirely sure, but Juice certainly looks and feels like he’s pleased, in more than one way. They’re both sticky and honestly, Chibs’ hipbones are a little sore thanks to the uncomfortable couch and Juice’s still quite bony weight. His back aches too and he nuzzles the side of Juice’s neck.  
  
“We should get cleaned up, kiddo. An’ my back is killing me.”  
“Old man…”  
  
Chibs gives him a very light slap on the ass and Juice raises with an exhausted smile, slow as he seems to struggle with balance at the moment. He’s a mess, they both are and a shower would be nice but Juice’s legs clearly aren’t co-operating and Chibs gets up to hold him.  
  
“Steady on. Don’t pass out on me, ye hear tha’?”  
“Sorry. Aint making promises I can’t keep.”  
  
Juice still smiles and when he takes a careful step towards the bathroom, he’s swaying a little and Chibs immediately leans back to him, supporting by swirling an arm around his waist as Juice puts his own on Chibs’ shoulders and yanks his pants over the hips.  
  
“C’mon, Juicyboy, lets go.”  
  
He wants to make a teasing comment about who’s acting like an old man really, but it would neither be fair nor funny and instead, he leads Juice slowly to the bathroom and helps him to sit on the toilet seat. Without really thinking about it, he starts tugging at Juice’s pants and shorts and the kid lifts so that they can come off. It might be a little demeaning, but falling over and getting injured is worse and judging by the lack of tension, Juice seems to know that as well.  
  
Chibs helps him into the shower cabin and Juice sinks down on the floor, resting against the wall.  
  
“Ye’re in pain?”  
“Nah. Just tired.”  
  
The kid shuts his eyes and Chibs turns the water on, turns away to undress and then grabbing the bar of soap to work up some suds before kneeling. Juice hums when Chibs starts washing his chest and faces the wall to give access to his back. It’s still so tense despite the weariness and release and Chibs starts rubbing the shoulders in large, steady circles, trying to make the stiff muscles relax again.  
  
It’s not really necessairy, soaping him up like this, but it’s nice. Feels good to be nice to the kid, doing something for him that’s more than just holding him or nagging to make him eat. Or getting off. Despite being so touch starved, Juice probably wouldn’t be able to have this little treatment without the meds. As Chibs wanders over the sholders and back, not digging or brushing but working wordlessly into the skin, he discovers knots and tension no human with this lean basic fitness should have.  
  
It’s years and years of stress and loneliness, of pain and fear, of no longer caring about anything than staying alive and hoping for death, cramped under the warm skin and Chibs knows it started to happen while _he_ still had a chance to pull Juice out of it. The only reason the kid isn’t in that much pain right now, is because of the meds and Chibs makes a mental note to coax Juice into having the morning dose as soon as he wakes up tomorrow, with an extra diazepam and Advil added to it. He pushes away the voice that accuses him of mother henning and lets his medical training outvote it. This is the _rational_ thing to do, it just happens to feel sappy too.  
  
Juice makes little sounds of both pain and pleasure, as some of the knots in his back softens up and he leans his head against the wall. Chibs would like to support him, but since they’re both buck naked and the kid is so tired, it feels a bit too intimate. This, squatting on the cabin floor next to him while rubbing his back is bad enough. A little smile curves Juice’s lips as Chibs starts soaping the black hair on his stupid head.  
  
“If I tell that you’re… better with’is than a masseuse, will you spank my ass?”  
“In yer dreams, kiddo.”  
“If you say so, old man…”  
  
Chibs snorts but Juice just smiles wider, still with his eyes shut and Chibs ignores the twitch in his cock the teasing elicits. Instead he rinses Juice’s hair before making a quick work on his own greyish strains and battered body. He shuts the water off and swirls a towel around himself and then squats to help Juice. Hopefully, he thinks as he gets Juice up to sit on the toilet, drying him off a little more brusquely than intended, the idiot will sleep through the night now. 


	75. Chapter 75

He’s dreaming. He knows he is, because Tully is holding him and Tully is dead. His arms are warm and he’s whispering in his bitch’s ear to relax, to go back to sleep and Juice whimpers, squirming against the man.  
  
“Juicyboy…? Ye’re dreamin’, lovey… I’m here, kiddo…”  
“Chibs…?”  
“Aye. T’is me, sweetheart.”  
  
Juice keeps struggling a bit more, squeezing the sheet in his half-sleep and he doesn’t want to wake up. It sounds like Chibs, not Tully, and that means he’s dreaming. If he wakes up, he’ll be alone again. The tension is heavy on his chest, the wake is tugging at him, pressing down his ribs and closing around his throat.  
  
“Wake up, Juicy… Ye’re havin’ a nightmare.”  
“Don’ wake me up…”  
  
He’s crying now. Crying, because Chibs is trying to leave, to make Juice wake up and that’s undbearable. Juice tries to cling onto the sleep but it’s futile and he’s forced to open his eyes. The light is sharp at first and he can still see Chibs with ragged hair and pepper dark eyes.  
  
“C’mon, sweetheart… Wake up. Ye’re only dreamin’, lovey, ye’re not back in jail, I’ve not left ye alone…”  
  
Juice blinks a few times to get used to the light and now he sees. He’s in his boring room at the motel, there’s a red kitten purring and kneading on his legs and a man hoovering over him, propped on his elbow. Cheek scars, pepper eyes, squinting at the light and heavy with interrupted sleep. The nightmare leaves and Juice is back in bed, worried and confused but no longer whimpering in fear. He takes a deep breath.  
  
“Sorry…”  
“Ye don’t have nightmares on purpose, ye muppet. Can I hold ye?”  
  
Juice practically throws himself in the arms and Chibs makes a little noise.  
  
“Oof! Easy, lad, don’ break ma ol’ bones, alright?”  
  
The man wraps his arms around him and Juice nuzzles the space between the throat and shoulder. Chibs’ scent is soothing, more so than any other smell Juice knows. Not even his own mother could make him relax by only her scent and warmth. Chibs smells from tobacco, soap and leather, a comforting mixture Juice pulls deep into his own lungs. It makes him feel grounded once again, back in a steady place and it takes a while before he’s even aware that he’s naked and he stiffens.  
  
“What’s wrong, Juicy?”  
“I… I’m…”  
  
Chibs is naked too. Juice swallows.  
  
“We’re naked.”  
“Aye, we are.”  
  
The man has his usual dry, matter-of-fact voice and Juice realises he doesn’t seem the least disgusted or even surprised. Chibs strokes his cheek.  
  
“Ye remember what’ happened?”  
  
Juice closes his eyes. Vivid images of kisses and heavy grinding on the couch, of chapped palms and… more… He nods, blushing from embarressment.  
  
“I’m sorry, Chibs…”  
“Why? Didn’t force me to anythin’. Didn’t force ye either.”  
  
Chibs’s voice has turned soft now, his hand is trailing along Juice’s spine, nimble touches making him shiver again but for a whole other reason than the nightmare. Chibs isn’t forcing himself onto him at all, just petting his spine lightly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  
  
“Ye want me to move? Or get some clothes on?”  
“No… I mean… If you want to, but…”  
  
He doesn’t have to elaborate any further and Chibs’ only answer is a kiss on his crown. The man’s chest is warm and strong and Juice rests on the tattoo, the name of Chibs’ daughter Kerrianne in Celtic letters across the heart.  
  
“Ye always have this nightmare?”  
  
Chibs keeps caressing him and Juice sighs.  
  
“Only since a few weeks.”  
“Since ye got out?”  
“Uh-huh. Not always, but it’s… the most frequent.”  
“Wanna talk about it? Cried for me in yer sleep… and for Tully.”  
  
The mention of that name stirrs up too many twisted memories, painful but also strangely sweet and on some level Juice knows that just as with all the times his birth family failed him and his chosen one used him to carry the shittiest secrets that eventually got too much for him, he was never strong enough to see a clear line between belonging and abuse with Tully. The twisted relationship with the nazi, if you could even call it that, was all that was left once Chibs and the club turned their backs on him. A classic Stockholme syndrome case in some ways, but when your chosen family starts killing each other, how do you know what’s the right and wrong side? You’ll betray no matter what and with Tully, that burden was finally removed.  
  
Painful as it was, no longer being used as a vessel for secrets or a weapon was a huge relief. Being very powerful con’s bitch didn’t make Juice a target for that kind of schemes anymore and if he’s truly honest with himself, Juice isn’t even sure if the rapes were any worse than the lies and cover-ups. If that doesn’t make him the most pathetic bitch ever, what would?  
  
“Juicyboy…?”  
  
Chibs’ gentle voice brings him back and Juice obliviously nuzzles the chest harder, wetting it with tears once again. He expects the Scot to tell him to calm down again, to stop this bawling but Chibs only keeps stroking him and sighs a little.  
  
“Maybe t’is better… Go on an’ave a good cry, kiddo… If tha’s wha’ ye need…”


	76. Chapter 76

He’s always been a patient man, but right now Chibs thinks he’s deserved some kind of award for it. Problem is, he’s logical too and knows all too well that some tears simply have to be allowed to finish by themselves. Juice’s nightmare was terrifying to watch this time and the fact that he cried for both him and Tully, sends chills of horror along Chibs’ spine.  
  
It’s probably completely wrong to comfort the kid like this, while they’re both buck naked, but it doesn’t feel wrong. Maybe Chibs is simply too tired to care and in his defence, they only reason they’re naked is due to exhaustion after the shower. It takes some time for the kid to shake the nightmare off and stop crying, time Chibs spends petting, kissing and murmering sweet words he’s not sure he should speak, but the night is a more allowing and forgiving time for old, cynical hearts and little broken ones too.    
  
Chibs isn’t really a cuddly person. Affectionate and physical, yes, but laying naked with someone like this without the intention of falling asleep after sex – or having a foreplay – isn’t his style. Juice is now only sniffling a little, finally out of tears but Chibs doesn’t want to let go. Thank God he’s definitely too tired to actually _do_ anything or even be in the mood for it, because his cock apparantly becomes alert as hell by this. It doesn’t help either that he’s got a good memory and knows exactly how Juice’s cock looked while dripping with water in the shower.  
  
It’s not a good time to figure out this sudden change of what turns him on, not at this hour or in this position. Juice has slipped a leg over Chibs’ thigh, leaving a gap for Chibs’ knee and he lets it happen, lets their legs entangle and they come flush together.   
  
Chibs has never understood gays, meaning why anyone would get turned on by an ugly cock instead of a beautiful, wet and warm pussy. He’s never been disgusted by it, no more than any other straight man who’s comfortable with himself and doesn’t feel treatened by what other people do in the bed, but that’s a farcry from getting turned on by a man when you’ve always considered yourself straight. He doesn’t understand it, but his mind fully welcomes the closeness, the lean and soft, very much male body to nestle itself in his arms.  
  
The slightly stiff muscles tell him Juice is wide awake too and not drifting back to sleep. There’s so much longing in the still quite thin body. Longing and fear, questions tucked in weariness to protect an already hurt soul who’s lost too much already. Chibs turns to scratch the back softly, a silent reassuring he’s still there, still wants him close if the state of his cock and the loud heartbeats haven’t made that clear already. And in the cover of night, this natural time for secrets of any kind to come to life, Chibs can forget all about who he is when the cut is on, what the patch, his own history and Juice’s or an orientation he’s never doubted for real until Juice came back in his life.   
  
The man in his arms sighs a little, a sound that turns to a hum when Chibs shifts from scratching to gentle rubbing. Juice’s back is all knotted up and could use a good, deep back rub or two, but Chibs simply stays with a small pressure travelling all along the shoulders.  
  
“Little darlin’… How are ye feelin’?”  
“Better…”  
  
Chibs finds a knot just below the neck and Juice gives a small, encouraging moan.  
  
“This good, kiddo?”  
“Uh-huh… Very…”  
  
Tired, but definately not about to fall asleep or mind clouded with nightmares. Juice sounds watchful but calm. Clear enough to know exactly what’s happening and who’s laying in this bed with him. It’s late and the small gap between the curtain and wall tells Chibs it’s closer to dawn than midnight, that they soon have to leave the forgiving and forgetful darkness again.  
  
Juice’s breath is hot over his skin, making it form goosebumps and along with that swelling cock sending constant signals to the nerves in Chibs’ groin, not caring the least about what a fucked up situation this is while he’s working on the sore neck. Everytime he presses down hard, Juice does to, moaning as their cocks rub harder together and Chibs has to bite his lip when the image of that mewling mouth around his cock comes flashing before him. He quickly gets a hand between them and grips the base to starve it.  
  
Two brown, questioning eyes skate over him when he opens his own and Chibs isn’t sure he’ll be able to actually say or hear a single word about anything right now, so he gets his hands under Juice’s ass and pushes him further up as he scoots himself down, looking straight at his eyes all the time because if he looks away, he fears he’ll break whatever spell this is. Juice doesn’t speak but the position over Chibs’ face clearly makes him a little less tense and when Chibs nibbles the wet tip in front of him, there’s a small, keen mewl slipping those soft lips.  
  
Juice is straddled over him like Chibs has sometimes done with crow eaters and this has already went too far for him to start pretending now. He lifts his head and feels Juice’s hand coming at his neck, not pushing but only holding it steady and Chibs takes him down halfway, slow and careful.  
  
“Oh, Jesus…”  
  
The broken moan forces Chibs to once again grab his own cock by the base and he looks up, mouth filled with Juice’s leaking cock, seeing the man’s eyes are wide as saucers and Chibs removes himself in a long, deliberately slow move before taking him down all the way again. Juice sounds like he’s about to burst in his seams, all hungry whimpers and the hand around Chibs’ neck clearly trying not to set the pace or pull too hard.  
  
He’s never done this before, not even been the slightest curious of how it might be, but here he lies, lips working along the shaft, tongue swirling all over it and the taste of salty precum isn’t disgusting at all, but as much of a turn-on, as piercing the tip into a wet pussy. Juice’s shaved balls are scraping against his chin and the beard must itch it but the kid doesn’t seem to care and neither does Chibs. He keeps taking him down, lapping around the head, alternating the slow slides with teasing probing around the slit where there’s a steady leaking now.  
  
Juice is panting, trying to muffle himself by burying his mouth in the bend of his arm and when Chibs looks up the man’s eyes are half-shut, lips falling apart and the chest is heaving evenly. Chibs pulls away, collecting some of the precum and spit from Juice’s wet shaft in his palm and the next time Juice’s hands lifts his head to take him, Chibs starts fondling the man’s balls in his slick palm.   
  
“Fuck!”  
  
The man starts panting so hard Chibs almost stops but the hands around his head start shaking and gripping harder, moving slower and Chibs tightens his lips as Juice’s balls become heavy in his hand and start to pull up. He doesn’t want to swallow or have cum in his face but he doesn’t dare to move either and when Juice lets out something akin to a mewl, Chibs expects to choke on cum but the kid slides back, releasing his head and Chibs watches as Juice whole body stiffens, feels how those perfect buttocks tightens under his palms and he watches, mesmerized, as the man, the kid, the creature coats a palm over his cock and then, with a single stroke from his free hand, comes.  
  
Chibs can’t take his eyes off Juice’s face. The way the eye-lashes flutter, how his mouth remains slightly open, bottom lip slack with pleasure and cheeks colored, the paleness from nightmares and sickness gone and replaced with something whacked but so very… alive. Chibs has almost forgotten about himself, just watching Juice come and when he starts stroking himself again, he hisses from how sensitive he is, on the edge soley by watching Juice and it only takes a few strokes before Chibs follows him over, gripping the man’s hips closer as he squirts all over Juice’s lower back, dripping down on his own belly.


	77. Chapter 77

There’s a part of him screaming at him to get up. To straddle off, move away and get some distance before Chibs simply shoves him off. His back is sticky, so is the Scot’s chest but Juice is still floating aroung in a mist of sensations and he can’t move. Not yet. He can feel their both faltering erections, their heartbeats calming down and breaths coming to rest. Chibs’ hipbones are a little sharp or maybe it’s his own, making the position slightly more uncomfortable, but Juice lays still.  
  
Chibs’ hands are still touching him, but there’s no lust in them now. Just a soft, caressing movement over his shoulders and hips.   
  
“Ye’re still with me, lad?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
He sounds hoarse, ragged even and he swallows, tries to moisten his throat a bit. He’s not sure how he’s able to move, only that his body feels like it ‘s got lead in it’s veins and that his muscles screams in protest when he unstraddles the man, feeling the cum drip down his back.  
  
“Should get cleaned up.”  
“Aye…”  
  
Chibs sounds about as surprised and cautious as Juice feels. This is not familiar ground, there’s no protocol here and Juice tries to focus on simply standing, regaining his balance before he moves to the bathroom.   
  
He turns the tap over the sink, bending down to get himself some handfulls of water, splashing some in his face, sticky from tears and Juice is confused for a moment before he remembers that he had a nightmare and woke up crying. A movement by the door makes him startle and then he feels Chibs’ heavy hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Easy there, Juicyboy.”  
  
Calm. No disgust or anything else telling the man regrets this or thinks Juice is pathetic. Juice still leans onto the sink and he sees Chibs grabbing the wash cloth in the shower, soaking it under the tap and then he starts cleaning Juice’s back.   
  
The only sounds coming from any of them are their breathings, small noises from the washing and Juice closes his eyes. Chibs is gentle, slow and drapes a towel around Juice’s shoulders when he’s done. Then he washes himself up, significantly faster and less caring, not as if he’s ashamed and wants to get rid of any evidences of their fucked up moment in Juice’s bed, but efficiant like he’s always doing something that simply needs to be dealt with. When he’s done, he strokes his hair back and sighs.  
  
“Need a smoke…”  
  
Juice does too and he simply follows the still buck naked man to the small window and opens it with slightly shaky hands before he sinks down on the floor, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from the window sill. He gets one out but can’t seem to light it and Chibs takes the lighter and does it for him.   
  
They’re not sitting close, not too close anyway. Whatever too close means at this point. Juice has no idea. The nicotine hits him sharper than usual, everything feels slightly _more_ at the moment and Juice refuses to dive into it or pretend it’s not happening because for the first time in a very long time, he’s actually able to be completely in the moment, without any numbness to protect him. He feels raw, aching and naked, but strangely enough not particularly vulnerable or on display.  
  
He needed this. Like, badly, and he didn’t even know he did. In this moment, Juice feels no fear, no shame, no worry but he’s not numb either and he can’t remember the last time he didn’t alternate between any of those feelings. He knows his hips and back most likely will give him hell tomorrow, but it’s not tomorrow yet and he can still hear Chibs’ breaths close enough to lean into, but he doesn’t. He needs the space now, they both do.   
   
He can still taste Chibs on his tongue, his lips. It’s mixed with the smoke now, with water and the smell of soap has erased the scent of the man from his skin and Juice finds that he misses it already. For a coward and traitor who’s not feeling shit anymore, he’s actually feeling an awful lot of things.   
  
A small pet on the side of his neck makes him turn his head and look at the man. Chibs is trailing a finger along the three year old scar and it hurts, not physically but the touch reminds Juice of why they’re sitting here, why they shouldn’t be sitting here and why they were separated in the first place. Much like he once petted the markings from the rope after the failed suicide or carefully tended to the wounds after beating him up, but right now it doesn’t send Juice over the edge of any emotion. He’s calm, unmoved and the light hand just feels like it has fallen into it’s right place, like it belongs there.   
  
Juice barely notices how Chibs takes both their smokes and puts them out, shutting the window a little more to get the security chain on and then takes his hand. The bedsheets are tangled, sweaty and has unmistakable cum stains on them so Juice starts removing them almost automatically and nods at the closet. Chibs thankfully doesn’t need words now and fetches Juice’s second set of clean bedlinen, re-making the bed as Juice goes to put the old ones in the laundry basket. He pads back, helping with the pillow cases and then he falls on the bed, leaving Chibs to finish the rest.  
  
He can hear the man walking back to the bathroom, the sound of lights being put out and then a small purr from Dyna, climbing onto the bed to reclaim her rightful place on Juice’s chest. The sense of floating around is starting to fade now and the firm mattress is a steady ground under his body, the tiny animal on his chest a small, warm weight of something living. Something innocent and helpless, unashamed of it’s needs, weakness and dependency. Little sharp claws into his flesh, loud and content purrs on the ribs that don’t feel so tight around his lungs anymore. The sound of light feet, Chibs always walks lightly unless he’s drunk, comes closer and the mattress shifts, slowly and hesistant.   
  
Juice moves a hand, reaching for Chibs and finds an arm. He tugs a little, a wordless assurance that he’s not about to kick the man out of his bed or wants more distance. He turns to the side despite Dyna’s protests and makes a little bowl with a tab of the blanket for her to lie in. She kneads around for a while, long enough for the Scot to swirl his arm around Juice’s waist and place the hand on his chest before the kitten can claim the place first.  
  
They’ve not said twenty words combined since climaxing and maybe none of them have any need for more. Juice feels how easily Chibs’ warm, solid body curls around his own thin form, softening the strain in his muscles, joints and bones. Old wounds and new soreness coming to rest and yes, maybe he can sleep now. Just maybe his mind will remain here and not wander off but staying safe, nestled in these arms that remind so much of real love, actual belonging he’s got no right to other than when his mind is asleep and dreaming of that sweetness, unbothered by the fact that it’s only borrowed and can be taken from him any second.


	78. Chapter 78

How are you supposed to know what true loyalty is, when to put a leash on your emotions and when to let reason and principles be silent or at least speak less loud? When you’re letting your judgement get clouded with personal feelings and when those kind of feelings actually _is_ the the only reason you’re doing something. It’s never been simple as in easy to bear, you’re only human after all, but the reasons and goals have mostly been clear enough to make that burden managable, sometimes even lighter, especially when knowing you’re carrying it for the greater good.  
  
Juice is sleeping so calm now and Chibs marvels at how good it feels to hold him like this. Out of all the things with the betrayal, the lack of trust hurt the most, because it’s the one thing Chibs could’ve prevented, had he known how much of that shyness and skittishness wasn’t simple insecurity one grew out of after a time, but actual sense of loneliness and fear. Looking at it now, Chibs can’t recall any other member making a serious suicide attempt after having been threatened with that kind of exposure.   
  
In that moment, when he found Juice under the tree, it was easy. The rage, the senses of betrayal, shock, anger and disgust all stopped an _I love you, don’t you dare leaving me, I’ll do anything just tell me what I can do to make you whole again_ from getting loose. Just like it was easy to tuck those feelings away when he told the kid to kill himself at the diner, or turned his back on him as he left on some kind of mission Jax had given him as a chance to earn his way back. No soothing, revealing words of what his old, Scottish heart actually felt on those occasions, or when words came of Juice still being alive in prison. A stop for a second Mayhem vote was more than anyone would expect, even if a majority of the table actually supported him.  
  
Apart from being a weak, afraid and unfortunate idiot, there’s not much of a crime to speak of. A lot of stupidity, lies and too many more powerful and unscrupulous people making decisions behind their loved ones backs. Misunderstandings, fucked up mistakes that could’ve been avoided had it not been for all the shit Jax, Clay and Gemma were hiding from each other and the club.  
  
Clay had John killed and Gemma knew it, supported it. The father of her child, behind the club’s back and worse, lying for Jax all those years. Then she killed Tara and yes, Juice should’ve gone to Jax but to accuse the mother of the pres for murdering his wife… As much as Chibs hates Juice for lying, he still understands it and despite keeping silent, Gemma planned to kill him. It’s just…  Did anyone, fucking _anyone_ besides Chibs think of the kid as anything more than a tool to use in secret against someone in the club or a vessel to put their fucking secrets in?   
  
Maybe it’s not they who’ve been deceitful but Chibs being naive. Haven’t they all kept secrets from each other out of fear of treason or exposure? The winner writes the history, it’s said, but John Teller’s story was the one of a man knowing he was about to loose and the winner turned out to be nothing but a backstabbing coward. In a way, it reminds Chibs of his time in True IRA, when members eventually started to turn against each other and you no longer knew if there even was any right side to be on anymore. To place someone like Juice, intelligent when it came to technology, quite good with business and one hell of a mechanic, but otherwise neither very independent nor able to see through web of lies, especially not made by people like Clay, Gemma and Jax.  
  
Or maybe, Chibs thinks as he rubs his thumb over the kid’s knuckles, brushing his lips over the now softly bent neck, this is just him trying to convince himself he’s not sleeping with a traitor. That there’s no conflict at all inside of him, nothing strange what so ever with his actions and this overwhelming need to have Juice back to his true self again, no matter how stupid and naïve that wish might be.   
  
Carefully, Chibs entangles from the sleeping man and leaves the bed. It’s almost morning.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, this is OnlyOneWoman having a little request: 
> 
> Yesterday I received a very hurtful comment on this fic, where someone declared how boring, ooc, nowhere-going and apparantly sexually uncomfortable as well. I'm not erasing comments unless they're racist or threatening or just spam, but let me just ask for the favour that IF you want to comment on this story, please don't let your first comment be one, long negative and bashing one, okay? I do this for fun, for free and also for my own well-being. Writing fan fiction is about passion and the only payment we receive is the joy of creating and nice response from readers. No on is forced to read, follow or comment and I'm well aware that not all stories are to everyones liking and I do know what kind of flaws all my 92 works here have and constructive critisism is welcome. But when your first and only comment is just rude and mean, pointing out all the things you don't like after 77 chapters, it honestly makes me sad and feel low. It's always easier to take negative response from someone who've given a positive and encouraging comment previous to the criticism. 
> 
> It's not fun to do something for free that others can take part in, and then get bashed.

Could be the meds, could be the deep sleep, the sex or simply the company. Juice doesn’t now and honestly, he doesn’t care. It’s been a very long time since he woke up without feeling either numb nor frayed and it’s a very welcome and surprising matter, to feel calm almost like a normal person. Instead of investigating it, Juice decides to simply take he opportunity of not feeling like a damn wreck and he turns around in bed, watching Chibs with his tea and fag by the window.  
  
“Morning.”  
“Morning, lad…”  
  
The Scot sounds like his usual, not-a-fucking-morning-person and Juice leaves the bed, collects some clothes and goes to the bathrooom. He can’t recall hearing the alarm but it’s early and he wont be late for work. Whatever Chibs’ plans are, they certainly wont involve Juice. Not at daytime and honestly, the club will start asking questions sooner or later, if this starts to become regular. The nightmares are gone with the morning light, but so is the sense of being in a secure little bubble and Juice can see how Chibs is slowly slipping back into his outer persona, just like he does. The daylight is far less tolerant with fucked up emotions than the night, simple as that.  
  
“Tig called. Gotta be off for a while.”  
  
Juice almost jumps, not hearing Chibs coming and the Scot frowns a little in the doorway to the bathroom.  
  
“Have work to do.”  
“I know.”  
  
Cool, matter-of-fact voices. As if the night never happened and there are no questions that need answers none of them have now. It’s not cold, just distancing and Juice is honestly grateful for that right now. He’s not sure how he’d be handling another fit in daylight.  
  
“I’ll be alright, Chibs.”  
  
Of course he will. He has his job, his kitten, his…  meds. He’ll be alright, that’s the point. Even if it feels like he’s on the verge of tears every ten minute or so, thanks to the damn benzos. Maybe he should stop taking them again, not to punish himself but to… not being so fucking desperate? Is that what he is? Seriously, maybe Chibs leaving for a while would be good. At this point, things are so confusing they’ll need the distance, no matter how scared Juice is for being left alone again.  
  
It’s not even the loneliness itself that scares him, but the exhaustion coming with constantly being on edge and ready for sudden changes. Being thrown between extremes on the emotional scale is knackering and it’s equally scaring and relieving to feel that, yes, it would be nice to actually have some space again. Juice’s smile isn’t even fake when he looks at the Scot, tying his boots. He’s not scared right now and doesn’t even feel the need to ask when or even if Chibs will be back. On some level, his mind is aware of how alarmingly abnormal this is, this sudden calm but there’s nothing to do about it and Juice isn’t sure he wants it to stop, even if it should freak him out.  
  
“Eat and take yer meds.”  
“Anything else?”  
“Don’t do anything too stupid.”  
  
Chibs isn’t saying anything about where he’s going or for how long and Juice forces away the part of him that wants to ask, needs assurance that Chibs will be back. Right now, the meds protects his mind extremely well and Juice silently admits to himself that maybe Chibs was right, maybe he should’ve taken them from the start instead of deliver a punishment no one could witness or take into account. Right now, there are no traces left of the nightmares, the desperation or the sex and if anyone looked through the small window now, the only thing to be seen would be a man lightning a smoke while watching an older man tying his boots, stopping a yellow kitten from playing with the laces.  
  
The man looks up and puts his jacket on, shoving the cut in his bag. He looks weirdly normal and judging by the little wrinkle between the dark eyes, Juice does too.  
  
“Uhm… I’ll text ye later.”  
“Yeah. Drive safely.”  
  
Chibs snorts and Juice gives a small, teasing smile that causes the man to blush. He shakes his head and unlocks the door.  
  
“Ye daft fucking muppet.”


	80. Chapter 80

The guys are looking funny at him. Curious, worried, a little questioning and Chibs curses his own distraction, trying to focus on the engine he’s currently trying to fix. It’s taken a hell of a lot work to get this club back on it’s feet and if he’s completely honest, that’s the major reason Chibs hasn’t been able to think of Juice as much, which was the only reasonable thing to do. Not forgetting, that’s not possible, but not having time to dwell.   
  
Chibs has lost counting on how many hours he’s spent in meetings with the cops, the city council, Sambel, the Mayans, Galindo cartel, Real IRA and fucking parent association club for annual fundraising shit. With all the chaos Jax and his family caused, it’s probably just pure luck the town didn’t come together with torches and pitchforks. Chibs knows one person in particular that he’s in gratitude for that: Jarry. They didn’t keep their thing going for very long, it simply didn’t work and they’re both too realistic to pretend their in many cases still opposite sides of the law, wouldn’t be a problem. And also, Jarry wanted kids and although Chibs loves his daughter more than anything in the world, he’s not stupid enough to want one more kid to disappoint with his absence.  
  
Working with her has meant balance. Unser was too deep into Samcro’s pocket, too easy for both Clay and Gemma to use and Hale simply too much of a boy scout, while Roosevelt… well, Juice was a fucking idiot for thinking the club would kick him out for his father being black but had Roosevelt not threatened him with… Chibs grits his teeth and lets the thought die. He’s got work to do and hiding this from the club feels like a betrayal.  
  
“Got a minute, brother?”  
  
Chibs looks up from the car and sees Tig in the grey Teller-Morrow shirt, open enough to reveal the thin silver link around the neck but not it’s flat, round pendant with the symbol of Venus carved on the backside. Venus’ and Tig’s relationship is definitely not a secret but that doesn’t mean they aren’t discrete. There’s a silent understandment and acceptance of their relationship and has been ever since the beginning since Tig is… well, _Tig_. At least, as Happy pointed out, Venus is alive and keeps Tig from violating the cementary.   
  
Chibs vipes his hands on his pants and hauls up a cigarette. He’s been waiting for this the entire morning.  
  
“Wha’s goin’ on?”  
“Aside from you and Juice, nothing.”  
“Fuck!”  
  
Chibs drops the lighter and smoke and sucks on the side of his finger. Tig’s eyes are incredulous and he silently offers Chibs one of his own, lighting it for him. Chibs takes a blow and closes his eyes. He can’t lie to Tig, that would make him as bad as Jax, but he’s not gonna tell anything he’s not asked about.  
  
“What do ye know?”  
“You’ve been seeing him. Haven’t spied on you or anything, but I’d reckognize your riding anywhere, cut or not.”  
“Shite…”  
  
This is bad. This is… really fucking bad and no, it’s not treason but it certainly feels like it and Chibs knows he’s a coward, he can barely meet Tig’s eyes. His odd, dangerous brother ashes on the floor.  
  
“You know what I like about Jax, Clay and Gemma being gone?”  
  
Chibs just scowls and Tig gives one of his cold grins.  
  
“The peace and quiet, brother.”  
“Can’t argue on that one…”  
  
He really can’t, because sometimes it’s still hard to believe how it all went down so bad. Tig scratches his chin.  
  
“I like coming home to Venus on a reasonable hour and hearing her flapping around about her day, have a beer and just eat by the telly, you know. And… and that wouldn’t be possible if you hadn’t…”  
  
Chibs wavers with his smoke.  
  
“Aint anyone’s business who ye’re fucking, brother.”  
“Same goes for you, pres.”  
  
Tig puts a hand up, clearly seeing Chibs on his way to find an explanation.  
  
“Chibs, wait. Look… I know how it might look, but I trust you, brother. I know you missed him and I… the reason I’m not gonna tell on you or go after him, is because I _know_ , brother. I know that you’d have him killed unless you had a really, fucking good reason.”  
“And?”  
“And I doubt his ass is good enough a reason for you to walk around like you’re having a fucking midlife crises.”   
  
Is this what it feels like to betray a brother? Chibs mouth is dry, his heart isn’t raising and he’s too calm. The cigarette in his hand is burning down and he puts it out on the ground, squashing it under his heavy boot. Tig sighs.  
  
“Look, I aint gonna pretend I _like_ this one bit, but I want to trust you, Chibs.”  
“Ye can trust me.”  
“And that’s exactly why I count on you to tell me that _really, fucking good_ reason sooner or later, because otherwise we’ll have a problem and you know that. But you can take some more time figuring it out.”  
  
Chibs takes a breath, unaware of how tense he’s been and when he looks at Tig, he knows the desperation, the confusion and turmoil simply are showing on his scarred face and that the eyes looking back at him, aren’t disgusted, hurt or angry, but kinda regretful and most of all understanding. The most ruthless member of Samcro puts a hand on Chibs’ shoulder and gives half a smile.  
  
“I trust you, brother, but you and I gotta talk more about this and _you_ need to know what the fuck you’re doing, pres. And at least use another jacket or stay to the car when you’re seeing him. You aint fooling anyone by just leaving the cut home.”


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a new character, original, but borrowing looks and a little more from The Excorcist's Father Marcus. I've not seen that show, but realised he had the perfect look and profession for an original character I've tried to come up with. In my story, how ever, his name is Father Mark Dawson and has nothing but his looks and profession - in a little bit of the name - in common with Father Marcus.

“Ortiz!”  
  
Juice startled, almost dropped the box with canned soups he tried to stash as neatly as possible on the shelf. Mr. Gerrison had a way of making him feel guilty whatever he currently did and Juice turned around.  
   
“Sir?”  
  
Mr. Gerrison had company, a man about Juice’s height and Chibs’ age, but the similarities stopped there and Juice’s boss nodded .  
  
“Ortiz, this is Father Mark Dawson, new priest in the St. Anthony congregation. Father, this is our delivery boy.”  
  
The priest smiled and reached out his hand for Juice to take.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ortiz.”  
“ _Padre._ ”  
  
It came automatically. Juice couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a church, but a Catholic up-bringing how ever left you with some traits you just couldn’t get rid of and the slightly cautious but courteous respond with a nod and _padre_ , was one of those. The priest’s hand was neither large, nor small and he shook Juice’s hand like it actually was nice to meet him. Mr. Gerrison cleared his throat.  
  
“Father Dawson here…”  
“Mark. Father or _padre._ ”  
  
The priest smiled again, a little apologetic for the interruption and Mr. Gerrison looked slightly confused for a second before he put the family friendly, community supporting business man smile on again. Apropriate ass kissing paid off and Juice forced a far less friendly smile away. Mr Gerrison looked at the priest again.  
  
“Father Mark, as I said, is our new vicar in St. Anthony and you’ll be delivering to him on a weekly basis.”  
  
Juice nodded, trying his best to add a little smile and the priest responded to it with a real one. It was a kind of smile Juice had almost forgotten existed. Open, warm and nonjudgemental.   
  
“It’s not soley for me, Mr. Ortiz. We’re re-opening our weekly soup kitchen again and Mr. Gerrison here kindly enough offered assistance. Since we’re a little short on people and can’t rely only on volontary work for this, I’m very grateful for the help.”  
“You’ll do deliveries on Tuesdays and Fridays, Ortiz.”  
  
Mr. Gerrison had turned to look at Juice again, the dry and impersonal order miles away from the priest’s softer appearance and Juice remembered who he was, that no one needed to be the slightest grateful for anything Juice did or didn’t.   
  
“You’re welcome to mass or any of our activities too, of course. Are you Catholic, Mr. Ortiz?”  
“On paper, _padre_.”  
  
The man laughed. Not very loud, but he was clearly amused and there was a teasing glimpse in the light blue eyes.   
  
“In my experience, Mr. Ortiz, papers rarely says much about us.”  
  
He reached his hand out again for Juice to shake and nodded.  
  
“I look forward to see you in church. Or at least our kitchen.”  
  
He then shook Mr. Gerrison’s hand as well.  
  
“Mr. Gerrison, Mr. Ortiz. Good day.”  
“Good day, father.”  
“ _Padre._ ”  
  
The priest left with another smile and Juice returned to the canned soup, fighting a sudden urge to cry.   
  
“Ortiz.”  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
He turned to his boss again, face hurting from the up until now oblivious strain in it’s muscles. Mr. Gerrison had his usual stern look again, more strict and stiff than mean, and Juice looked him in the eyes, trying to make himself appear both humble and open at the same time. Another thing engraved in his pathetic backbone: looking innocent and stupid in front of some people with a small amount of power they often overestimated without looking away, was always the safest. Mr. Gerrison was no exception and he frowned.  
  
“There’s not been any complaints on you this far, Ortiz. I expect it to stay that way, is that clear?”  
“Yes, sir. Crystal.”  
   
His boss nodded and left Juice with the stash of canned soup. He was almost done with turning all the cans so that the labels were visible when he spotted something familiar in the corner of his eye. Juice froze in his movement and blinked at the small space between the cans with soup and beans. The next second, it was gone.  
  
Juice swallowed and his back tensed.  
  
“Excuse me? _Excuse me?_ ”  
  
Juice almost jumped again and a young woman with one kid on her hip and another in her hand, looked at him, clearly irritated.  
  
“Pickles. Where are the pickles?”  
“Uhm… Just to the left, second shelf next to the… olives, I think.”  
“ _Thanks_.”  
  
The annoyed woman muttered something Juice couldn’t hear and hurried off to the other shelf. He looked up again, eyeing over the shelves as discrete as possible but he couldn’t see Happy anymore, if he’d even been there at all.


	82. Chapter 82

It’s not right, just not wrong either. Chibs hates feeling out of control. He’s never been a control freak by any measures, but you wont survive for long in this kind of life without constantly making sure you have a clear view of your surroundings. That very much includes your thoughts and feelings. And God knows the last years before it all went south for real, forced him – forced them all – to watch their backs like damn tweekers. Even from those who were supposed to have it.  
  
Chibs is sitting by the lake, once again sans cut. People may reckognize him anyway if someone decides to have a little evening stroll here, this isn’t so much about hiding as simply feeling like he’s not worthy of wearing the reaper in his current state of mind. _I know that you’d have him killed unless you had a really, fucking good reason._ Tig’s words make him cringe, because Chibs has never sneaked behind the club’s back, never needed forgiveness or been known for _not_ keeping his shit together. Come thinking of it, that’s probably been one of the reasons the club is still even existing, Chibs’ capability of setting his own – and others – emotions aside for the greater good.  
  
He’s alone here, at least on this side and the evening brings calm. Not like in Belfast, Dublin or even Glasgow. Chibs didn’t exactly have a _good_ childhood, but it wasn’t awful either and as soon as he was old enough to sneak up and climb out through the skylight nights, sitting on the roof and just look at the great darkness above, sometimes clouded, sometimes starlit and always, always soothing whatever stress still glowing from the day. Chibs closes his eyes, trying to remember the sense of calm that had him forget about fighting parents, meager meals, da’s breath from cheap drinks and ma’s bags under her eyes from too heavy work and too little love.  
  
The home, the neighborhood, fucking Glasgow with the life he lived there consisting of hard-working, poor people like his own parents and with too many kids to support. The only reason Chibs was a lonely child, was due to a his mother getting some kind of damage on her uterus, unable to get another child and Chibs never asked about it, only knows it because his father told him on his sixteenth birthday when Chibs had been out with a girl from school. _Don’ knock’er up, Filip, ‘cause yer birth ruined yer ma’s fanny, lad an’ tha’ lass is too young fer tha’._  
  
Well, at least Ailean Telford tought his son the importance of contraceptions. The only woman ever to have carried a child for Chibs, is Fiona Larkin and she’ll be the only one. Not that Ailean had been happy to hear about his son knocking up an IRA member, especially not a half-black one, and Kerrianne has never met her Scottish grandparents – or her Irish grandmaw and Afro American grandda. This strange family of three they have is barely a family either, but at least Kerrianne doesn’t have to see her da shitfaced and coming home with blood on his hands or smelling of gunpowder and guilt. She’s never had to visit him in prison and for all his and Fiona’s faults – and they’re many – they’ve never used their daughter as a tool against each other. Chibs certainly isn’t father of the year, but at least he knows it and Fiona knows it as well. Belfast is dangerous, yes, but considering how things have been of lately, Charming would’ve been a step from bad to worse. And that’s putting it mildly.  
  
Chibs looks at his phone. He’s still not texted Juice and Chibs realises he’s been squeezing the damn thing ever since he sat down here – and the fags too judging by the sad pile of squashed butts on the ground. He did the same thing after Juice’s suicide attempt, after the betrayal, after seeing him leave on his bike on that last mission. Chibs couldn’t stand seeing him leave, had turned his back on him not because he despised him as Juice probably thought, but because he was afraid he’d not be able to keep his shit together.   
  
The others lost a brother and friend that day, but Chibs lost a piece of himself and ignoring the fact that he’s not felt whole ever since, has been necessairy in order to move forward. It’s been so much easier with the loss of Jackie boy, Clay, Opie, Bobby… Gemma and Tara. Easier not because he loved them less, but due to the inevitably fixity of it. Death, merciless as it is, still brings a strange peace of mind to Chibs, because that means it’s out of his hands, that neither he nor anyone else can do anything about it. It can be cruel, unfair and not to mention leaving you with yet another sorrow to carry with you under the cut, but it’s also impossible to undo and everyone knows that.   
  
With his history of first the army’s medic, then IRA:s, Sambel’s and eventually Samcro’s, Chibs may be a little too pragmatic about this and he’s never given voice to his point of view, the slightly relief death always brings him, because that would just be cruel and pointless. Chibs hasn’t lost blood relatives in this mayhem and the only one he still has, Kerrianne, is a woman now, studying medical chemistry in Belfast and Chibs couldn’t be more proud – or grateful. Unlike so many other of the Samcro members’ kids, she’s had a relatively safe and happy childhood, even with an absent father and True IRA mother. Chibs has rarely worried about Kerrianne’s safety, since Fiona simply is one the most dangerous persons he’s ever come across and loves their lass fiercly.  
  
There are always prices to pay for this life and Chibs never expected anything else. It’s not like him to sit down and brooding over things he’s lost, but unlike his marriage, Jax, Gemma and John’s dream of his son to live a different life, Juice isn’t dead and Chibs still loves him. He doesn’t function properly, doesn’t think clear and his struggles have been horrifyingly visible. Nothing and no one has ever made him feel so utterly vulnerable as seeing Juice again and just as the nights in Glasgow once gave a wee Filip a safe place to cry when Ailean Telford had beaten him silly with his belt, the merciful darkness around the lake outside Charming, provides an old, battered Chibs who always used to have heart and mind in balance, a moment to weep like a miserable muppet over the price he doesn’t think he’ll afford to pay one more time without loosing both heart and mind in the process.


	83. Chapter 83

He hates feeling like he’s obeying Chibs’ orders. That he’s taking his meds, forcing down proper food despite not having any appetite and not doing anything stupid, simply because the Scot told him too. The last one might be discussed, but Juice knows more than well what Chibs meant. No fucking suicide attempt. Juice also hates that the man didn’t even have to specify, that they both knew so damn well what lied behind those five little words. Sometimes he’s wondered how Chibs would’ve reacted, had that fucking branch not been too weak and Juice’s imagination has not painted a very pleasant picture of that scenario. It may or may not have been an actual decision, but it’s nevertheless the biggest reason why Juice wasn’t able to try and finish himself again, not even after Chibs told him to pull the trigger.  
  
A little mewl by his feet interrupts his destructive thoughts and he smiles at the furry creature who’s finished her dinner and now hopes for seconds.   
  
“Hey, girl… Still hungry, huh?”  
  
More likely just eager for a treat. Juice spoils her, he knows that, but she’s not been very well treated and gets so happy for a little piece of fish or meat from the human’s plate, it’s hard to resist. It also calms Juice, to focus on her, especially after this day.  
  
He throws another anxious look at the door. He’s already double-checked the lock, and put a chair as a second barrier under the knob. A quite pathetic defense if Happy indeed had seen him behind that shelf three days ago, or even been there at all. Juice isn’t really sure and that just makes it worse, because his mind is already fucking with him and he doesn’t need hallucinations in daylight added to the mess. It’s bad enough that the priest almost had him bawling due to a little unpexpected kindness.  
  
Chibs has sent him a couple of texts and he’s responded to them. They’re all quite impersonal, just short check-ups and Juice doesn’t know what to make of it but it still makes him relax a little more, receiving them. Sleeping alone is easier now as he takes his meds and although he has nightmares and sometimes wakes up screaming or even crying from them, he’s not resorted to thinking of them as a punishment he has to endure. At least not without a little help from the pills. He’s also finally taken the time to actually read the labels with possible side-effects and all the crying and neediness at least makes more sense now. Juice effectively ignores other times in the past when he’s been on strong meds without acting like a clingy kid or a needy and horny fuck up, because he can’t use that knowledge to anything but self-loathing right now and sleeping simply feels so much better.  
  
Juice opens a soup can – not the kind he stashed while thinking he saw Happy – and heats it on the stove before taking the evening dose of his meds. They probably don’t use this particular can in the soup kitchen, but making it from scratch. He’s been to quite a few ones as a kid, until he was around four years old and mom re-married, getting a kitchen with stuffed shelves in the fridge and matching dishes on the table as her belly got bigger and bigger. Brian Parks was a complete asshole when mom didn’t look and Juice kept his mouth shut. It got easier when Bianca was born and Brian got to be the proud father of his very own, half Puerto Rican, half white and gorgeous little girl. Juice, already used to barely being tolerated by the man, didn’t feel jealous of the baby because all the love Brian gave her, seemed to make him a little less inclined to beat the crap out of Juice. That, and not having to stand in line at the local soup kitchen, was definitely an improvement.  
  
The tomato soup with tiny pieces of pasta doesn’t look very appealing, even if it’s served in a real bowl. Juice has always hated eating out of cans or boxes and that’s probably because mom got so happy when she could serve dinner on decent china to her kids. It meant you were in _your own_ place and had a steady point you could call home. The fact that she forced herself to stop speaking Spanish in order to please the asshole she married and keep her nice home, is something Juice really can’t blame her for. It’s not as if Bianca had an easier life just because she had her real dad around and since Juice has never met Michael Cole, there’s no way of knowing if he’d been a better father or an even bigger asshole than Brian Parks. Samcro is the only _real_ family Juice has ever had and it’s his own fault he lost it.  
  
Juice isn’t aware of how much easier the meds make it is to think and eat, or how the fear of Happy sneaking up on him seems to be gone, like a bad dream in the morning light. Usually he doesn’t like bensos at all, because they make him sleep too much and leaves him feeling slow and obtuse while awake, but right now they really help. His body isn’t sore only due to the stress and injuries when he fucked up or prison time, but from long years of living too hard without caring or even admitting he wasn’t immortal. He’s not young anymore although thirtysix hardly counts as coming of age even when you’ve had a fairly rough life. He feels old, all the shit he’s been through and the way he’s fucked up and let people down certainly has a part in it.   
  
He puts the dishes in the sink and washes up, before retrieving to the bed. Giving the limbs and bones, muscles and useless brain cells a break, feels like stealing something he knows he doesn’t deserve, but still dwelling in it without being able to feel guilty or ashamed. It’s very much like the feeling he had when Tully offered him coke and closeness while reading him poetry. Acceptance, neither willing nor unwilling, knowing there were only two ways to go through a battle already lost, with minimal pain or the opposite. He chose the easier way, only to get cheated in the end. Pretty suitable for a traitor, really.  
  
He falls asleep early, still dressed and an angry signal from the phone wakes him up and Juice scrambles to grab it and answer.  
  
“Yeah?”  
_“Where are ye?”_  
“Chibs?”  
  
He rubs his eyes.  
  
“What time is it?”  
_“Eleven thirty. Have called ye three times, ye shite.”  
_ “Sorry, I fell asleep like… half an hour after I came home. Taking my meds, as ordered.”  
  
He’s sounding a little bitchy, can even hear it himself, but it’s not intentional and he yawns.  
  
“Don’t tell me you got worried, Chibs.”  
_“Fuck ye too, Juicy.”  
_  
Grumpy asshole. There’s another sound added to the expected snort and Juice startles.  
  
“Are… are you crying, man?”  
_“No. Are ye?”  
  
_ No, but Chibs definitely is. Or has been quite recently. Juice knows how that man gets after a little meltdown and some drinks in, how he’ll try and swallow, intoxicate, reason and will it away when he can’t use his dick, his fists, gun or even a long, fast ride on the bike to cool off. Only when reason, the Scotch bottle, the road, fucking and sleep all have failed to help him, will Chibs cross that line and give in. Shock also does the trick, but judging by the strained breathing in the other end of the line, Chibs probably just feels messed up and miserable.  
  
Juice listens a moment longer before trying to be the voice of reason – oh the fucking irony.  
  
“Rough day, huh?”  
_“Aye.”  
  
_ No snapping, which means he’s quite a bit more than a few drinks in and most certainly alone. Juice isn’t sure if that’s good.   
  
“Where are you, Chibs?”  
_“A shitty bar in the middle of nowhere.”  
_ “Wait…”  
  
Juice definitely hears the sound of something familiar and he forces a laugh away.  
  
“You’re at the _Jelly Bean_?”  
_“Aye.”  
_ “With Tig?”  
_“No, alone. Christ, this sounds depressing…”  
  
_ This time Juice actually laughs, because it _is_ fucking depressing and he also remembers Opie referring to it’s workers as _horse meat in a g-string._ Chibs loves women but he’s never been desperate and probably never had to be. For every woman being scared off by those scars, there’s been two who got turned on by them and easily three more simply loving the accent too much to care. The idea of him sitting drunk and alone at the Jelly Bean is even more depressing than Juice alone with a cat on a motel room.  
  
“I thought you were going off somewhere.”  
_“I was. T’is called Teller-Morrow.”  
_ “Do they know? I mean… Thought I saw Happy today. At work.”  
  
He sounds afraid and he prays Chibs doesn’t hear it. The huff in the other end doesn’t tell.  
  
_“He’s not supposed to touch ye, kiddo.”  
  
_ No second Mayhem vote, yes Juice knows, but a murderous, unleashed Happy needs no Mayhem vote and makes Tig look like a fucking altar boy and it takes a lot more than some downers and a friendly smile from a priest to stop fearing a slow death in the hands of Happy. But whatever Juice and Chibs has, it’s probably not showing because if it did, the Scot wouldn’t get shitfaced and cry, but giving orders. This is just… so unlike him.   
   
Juice swallows and pets Dyna who’s nuzzling him.  
  
“Chibs?”  
_“Aye?”_  
“It’s late. You have a place to crash?”  
_“Got a room.”_  
  
That’s a relief and Juice forces himself not to beg Chibs to stay away from the _horse meat_. In this state he’s less scrupulous than a horny seventeen-year-old desperate to loose virginity and not that it’s Juice’s or anyone’s business who Chibs is fucking, but _Jelly Bean…_? Juice keeps scratching the kitten, now purring loudly on his chest.  
  
“You’re not hitting any of them mares, right? Because that would just be… sad, man.”  
_“As opposed to hittin’ a rat and traitor?”  
_ “At least I’ve got all my teeth left. And I’ve never had a c-section.”  
  
Drunk and miserable or not, Chibs still knows how to laugh and the loud, almost roaring sound sends Juice into something close to an actual laughter as well. He listens to the Scot slowly getting back to some place more steady in his mind and Juice can hear the lingering smile on the man’s lips when the laughter dies out. And he may be taking advantage of Chibs’ sudden vulnerability, but he can’t help himself for saying it:  
  
“I miss you. Try not to… do anything _too_ stupid.”    
  
The snort in the other end of the line tells him Chibs isn’t too drunk to realise he’s getting his own words thrown back at him.   
  
_“Aye, but it’s a little late for that warning now, isn’t it, muppet?”  
  
_ It is. It definitely, no matter how they do, too late for a lot of things and no booze or meds can change that. Juice swallows again.  
  
“Hit the sack, Chibs. No more drinking tonight, okay?”  
“ _Aye, maw_. _Now fuck off and let me sleep.”  
_ “Hey, you woke _me_ up.”  
_“Details… details, Juicyboy. Love ye.”_  
“Love you too, Chibs.”  
  
Praised be booze and bensos. Juice hangs up and drags himself to the bathroom, popping another pill in his mouth because exhaustion or not, he’ll never get back to sleep now without chemical magic. He curls back into bed and before falling back to the blessed fucking, dreamless sleep again – or even remembering the potential risk of a nightly visit from Happy – he prays to someone or something that neither of them will remember this tomorrow.


	84. Chapter 84

The sweetbutt showing him to his room, looks more like a stripper than a motel worker and it’s only when she doesn’t leave after opening the door, that Chibs realises he’s paid for both her _and_ the shitty room. Where the fuck did he go after talking to Juice? He left, because he remembers telling the lad he had a room. Perhaps he had, but where? He’s definitely had too much to drink.  
  
Usually, he’d just go with the flow of booze. The lass is fairly cute with red hair and freckles, curvy and has that type of cheeky smile Chibs loves. Normally, it would’ve been a no-brainer but the only thing the functioning part of his brain can think about, is Juice. The lass is following him inside, lean shoulders exposed and she’s wearing high boots with her stockings and hotpants. This is clearly _not_ the Jelly Bean. With a little puff she’s having Chibs sitting on the bed and straddling his thighs.  
  
Chibs feels… nothing. His cock reacts on instinct, with that lovely piece of ass rubbing against him, but he’s not in the mood. He tries closing his eyes but that only replaces the lass with Juice and makes it even more fucked up. When the lass leans closer, Chibs stops her, gently but clearly. She raises her eyebrows.  
  
“Something wrong, love?”  
  
A lot of things, actually, that Chibs can’t talk to anyone about and he sighs, strokes the lass’ cheek and gestures for her to move without making it look like he’s shoving her off his lap.  
  
“Ye’re a lovely lass, but I’m afraid my ol’ arse aint in the mood for a ride now, sweetheart.”  
“You’ve already paid me, sir. Room’s for the night but I’m only included for two hours.”  
  
_Ah._ That explains it all. He’s at the Blue Moon. No wonder he’s having a lass draped all over him without remembering having paid. The “all inclusive” motel with the cheapest hookers without needle sticks all over them you can come across and quite close to the Jelly Bean.  This one must be new here, still looking her age. You’re aging quickly in this place and Chibs feels embarressed. He’s not a lonely truck driver, a bit fat and greyish with more wrinkles, yes, but a he’s never had to be desperate with women, ever, and Juice is right. It may not be the Jelly Bean, but it _is_ fucking sad.    
  
He smiles at the poor lass and digs in his pocket for a couple of bills.  
  
“Here. Take’em. Didn’t remember the room service in this place and I just wannae be alone, lovey.”  
  
She looks suspicious for a second and then accepts the money, shoving them down her boot. She still seems unsure of what to do and Chibs lights a smoke, offering her one as well, which she rejects with a curt shake on her head.  
  
“Quitted two years ago. You’re sure you don’t want me to…?”  
  
Chibs shakes his head, feeling the strain in his neck and how tired he suddenly is.  
  
“Just wannae get some sleep, darlin’. Had a long, shitty day an’ I guess ye had too.”  
  
She smiles a little, not a happy but a self-ironic one and Chibs doesn’t blame her for the visibly relieved look on her face. Being a hooker in this place suddenly makes Jelly Bean look like a fancy establishment and Chibs may not be a bald trucker, but he’s certainly not the best client a hooker can get. He nods at the door.  
  
“Ye should get some rest too, lovey.”  
“It’ll look suspicious if I leave now. My boss wont…”  
“Then tell’im Chibs Telford, pres of Samcro finished quickly an’ was very pleased, tha’ he asked ye to leave because he’s knackered an’ if he has a problem with tha’, he can try’an speak to a drunken, tired Scot or be smart. Got tha’, lass?”  
“Got it, sir.”  
  
She gives Chibs a little peck on his cheek and he slaps her lovely ass fondly but no, not even a fucking twitch. He really must be fucking exhausted, cock behaving like a sleeping slug. The lass finally leaves and Chibs locks the door, kicks his boots, cut and jacket off and crashes on the ugly, red duvet on the bed without even looking at his phone to see if Juice has called.


	85. Chapter 85

No Happy. Or Tig. No Chibs either but he’s probably still asleep, with one hell of a hangover waiting. The years in Samcro and how close they all lived, means there’s hardly any state of drunkenness or other intoxication Juice hasn’t seen up close. He knows how his bro- _former_ brothers all are when having too much to drink or having some kind of emotional meltdown. After all, it’s a family and one requiring a lot of strenght and ability to stay calm in dangerous situations, meaning every once in a while even the most ruthless and tough among them, need an outlet.  
  
Juice piles the grocery bags on the moped, making sure nothing gets squashed or unsteady. Mr. Gerrison, of course, is peeking at him from his office window, supervising his cheap ass-licking in forms of second quality potatos, onions, carrots and soon to be expired pork for the soup kitchen. A little welcome gift to the new priest is added as well: lamb, freshly baked bread from this mornings delivery and a fruit basket. Juice isn’t exactly versed in the Bible, but he’s pretty sure Jesus never said anything about feeding already well-nurtured priests fresh pineapple and then give the leftovers to the poor.  
  
He hates the deliveries. Being in the store isn’t much better, but riding the stupid moped always reminds him of what he no longer can ride and even with the meds, it feels sad. He might have felt ashamed for it, but since fucking up and knowing it was the end, Juice no longer thinks of himself as a biker. Riding a pathetic moped with groceries instead of riding a Dyna with Samcro is no more than he deserves, especially after not being able to kill himself. And although he’s always aware of how much he despises himself, what a worthless little punk, coward and rat he is, he can’t just pretend he’s not affected by others looks.  
  
The church isn’t too far from the store and Juice drives up on the backside, parking a little bit away from a car that probably belongs to the priest. The backdoor is open and there are sounds of something, probably furniture, being dragged over floors and… Juice startles and listens. Yes, it’s fucking _Queen_ sounding from the house. Seriously? Not that Juice didn’t think priest listened to the radio, but this? He takes two of the bags from the moped and walks up to the door.  
  
“Hello?”  
“Yes?”  
  
A woman in her sixties with an old-fashioned apron and hair bun, lemon-faced and clearly feeling interrupted, approaches. Juice doesn’t reckognize her but she’s clearly not impressed by his looks, probably because of the ink on his arms and she might even be local enough to actually having seen him with Samcro. Juice clears his throat.  
  
“Uhm… I have a delivery for uhm… _padre_ Mark.”  
  
The woman scowls.  
  
“ _Father_ _Dawson_ is in the chapel. Are you the boy from the supermarket?”  
“Yes, ma’m. Mr. Gerrison sent a little welcome gift. Where do you want the bags?”  
  
Reluctantly, as if expecting a burglary, the woman eyes him again and nods to the door.  
  
“Follow me. Wipe your feet first.”  
  
The place is still not ready, marked boxes with stuff here and there, dusty and tasteless paintings with religious or nature motives hanging on the cheap wallpaper, probably belonging to the old vicar. The kitchen is equally messy, with pots and pans in no order and it smells from coffee. Three cups on the table and a basket with three cinnamon rolls.  
  
“You can put the bags on the counter. Father Dawson _and_ father Timothy will be here for coffee soon and I want this done with before they’re back from chapel.”  
  
The emphasis on the other, retired priest that is still living here, the exact number of cups and pastries on the table and the homey scent of actually nice coffee are needlesticks but feel like slaps in the face. Juice blushes, realising the self-inflicted loneliness as well as glimpses of his former sins are practically radiating from him and the house keeper sees it all, making sure there’s no doubts about his place here on proper distance from her pastries.  
  
“Tell Mr. Gerrison we’re very grateful for his generosity.”  
“Yes, ma’m.”  
  
Juice isn’t sure if he’s about to leave and he stands in the doorway. The woman, who’s been busy admiring the fruit basket, looks up from the bags with a questioning look.  
  
“Was it anything else?”  
“Uhm… no, ma’m.”  
“Then, if you’ll excuse me, I have some more work to do.”  
  
Juice quickly nods and gives a little smile.  
  
“Of course. Good day, ma’m.”  
“Good day.”  
  
He feels… picked apart. Caught in the act like a kid stealing cookies. Nice things, good things that aren’t for him and everyone knows it by just looking at him and Juice hurries away with his next delivery, forcing away that idiotic, deluded anticipation for another smile from the priest. A friendly smile that isn’t for him either, just as little as fresh cinnamon rolls and the feeling is heavy, makes him look down and shut off and that’s why he doesn’t see the old Ford following him, unhurried and lazy as if it’s driver has no real goal.  
  
Two cracked toothpicks are left on the sidewalk. 


	86. Chapter 86

”Blue Moon? _Blue Moon_?”  
  
Tigs face is both incredulous and amused and Chibs is just about to say something about graveyards when a cup of coffee is put in front of him with a sunny smile.  
  
“There you go, darling. Black as night with a spoon of cane sugar, all ready. Scrambled eggs and toast?”  
“Thanks, Venus, that’ll be great.”  
“In a sec, Filip. And not to critisize, but Blue Moon isn’t a place for decent men. Them girls aren’t properly cared for.”  
  
Chibs just snorts.  
  
“No shit.”  
  
The coffee is strong and smells lovely. Venus’ and Tig’s kitchen – unofficially _theirs_ as it is, they live together in Tigs house even if Venus still has her own place – is very feminine these days. Lots of bright colors, matching dishes, potted plants on the windowsill and curtains. It suits Venus, for sure, and strangely it actually suits Tig as well. Maybe because he seems so comfortable here.  
  
Venus is flattering about in her long, silky robe, hair damp from the shower and Tig looks at her.  
  
“Slow down, baby. He’s not gonna starve to death.”  
“Hospitality, Alexander. Hospitality.”  
”Usually he lives on cheap coffee, booze, cigarettes and soggy fries.”  
“Well, then he definitely needs something a little more nutritious now, dear. Blue Moon is known to take it’s toll on the hardest of men. There you go, Filip.”  
  
The plate with scrambled eggs, two pieces of buttered toast and three slices of fried tomato lands on the table and Chibs realises he’s starving. He grabs Venus’ wrist and gives her a kiss on the big, smooth and perfectly manicured hand.  
  
“Ye’re a domestic goddess, Venus. Ye’re sure Tig deserves ye?”  
”That and more, Filip. Now eat before it gets cold.”  
  
The silent acceptance of Venus has always confused Chibs a bit. The MC, at least the kind of clubs like Samcro, aren’t exactly known for their diversity or acceptance of minorities. Somehow, Samcro and by extension their closer business and social contacts, have been very lax about the VP hooking up with a  tranny prostitute.  Tigs has always been a little strange and that’s probably why it’s been fairly easy for him and Venus to be a bit more open.  
  
Venus is also smart, fit and very kind-natured. Mina, the pitbull Tig saved from the fightfing pit, likes her too and when Venus sits down to eat, the dog comes over to lay it’s head on her thigh. She scratches the head a little.  
  
“No begging, Mina. Be a nice girl for mommy. Alexander, dear, would you mind doing the laundry tonight? I have a late appointment.”  
”I’ll handle it, babe.”  
  
They don’t talk job details. Venus isn’t working as a prostitute anymore, but as a madam and her girls and boys are very well cared for. She is exquisitely discrete and the escort service _Aphrodite_ quite successful with an almost flawless reputation. Those johns who’ve made the mistake of treating her staff badly in any way are few, very rarely local and never doing it twice. By now, most residents in the area, know more than well what an extremely bad idea it is to mess with the tall, broad old lady of Samcro’s creepy VP.  
  
Also, naturally, Venus Van Dam is off limits for everyone and although she definitely has made Tig a little less prone to violence, she’s by no means fragile, innocent or harmless. Soft voice, rustling silk dresses and elegant little purse or not, she still has one hell of a right hook and brothers from other quarters have learned – some of them the hard way – what happens if you cross the line.  
  
Venus gives her old man one of her warm smiles and Tig gets something soft in his eyes. Chibs feels like he’s the involuntary viewer of an intimite moment and pierces his eyes to his plate and the delicious scrambled eggs and bacon.  
  
“I’ve not seen Juice lately. Is he still around?”  
  
Chibs drops his fork and stares at Venus, who receives a look from Tig. She takes a little sip of her coffee.  
  
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I didn’t know this was a delicate subject of discussion. He’s been back for quite some time now, haven’t he?”  
“He is. Not in Charming, though.”  
“Well, from what I’ve heard, he’s working as a delivery boy these days.”  
“Who told you that?”  
  
Tig sounds curious and a little irritated and Venus just gives him _her_ look, the one that means she’s surrounded by stupid little boys who should know better than imagining she doesn’t know what’s going on in her area.  
  
“Oh, _Alexander…_ ”  
  
Tig just raises his hand in defeat and keeps wolfing down his breakfast. Chibs swallows. Venus is far too smart when it comes to reading people, not that it’s surprising considering how far she’s come and how much she’s survived without loosing her kindness.  
  
“Is the boy a problem to your little fraternity or not, because if not you may want to talk to him.”  
  
Tig scowls.  
  
“Why?”  
“Well, because unless you want the boy to jump in every corner and give the good shop keeper of Stockton a bad reputation for hiring a Samcro mem…”  
“He’s not a member, love.”  
“Really? As far as I remember, Jax Teller wasn’t clear in that respect.”  
“Wha’ do ye mean, Venus?”  
  
Chibs folds his arms together and the big lady throws out her hands again.  
  
“Jax Teller, may he rest in peace, overruled the mayhem voting, did he not? By sending the boy to Stockton to take out Henry Lin, under false promises of a second chance?”  
  
Now both Chibs and Tig stares at her and her gaze hardens.  
  
“I’ve done time in Stockton too, dears, and have my own channels, as you both should know. There’s not a shot caller in the county who hasn’t requested a little Venus love in the past for one confused boy or another inside or outside. Discretion is what I do best, after all, and Jax Teller lied to Juice, which the boy knew. He’s not as dumb as he seems.”  
  
Tig clears his throat.  
  
“Venus… Uhm, babe… What’s your point with all this?”  
“Only that he’s done some really stupid decisions but he walked to his death like a man and that he deserves closure.”  
“Closure?”  
“Yes, _closure_!”  
  
The gentle woman suddenly sounds hard and Chibs has no problem seeing how she survived and kept her head high. She pierces her gaze through both him and Tig.  
  
“It’s not decent behavior to keep the boy in this no mans land, after all he’s been through. Don’t you snort at me, Filip! Either you decide to carry out the green light once and for all, or you help him back on his feet.”  
  
Tig just gapes and Venus pops a piece of crispy bacon in his mouth and smiles.  
  
“I have some errands in town and I really should get going.”  
  
She's all sweet and kind again, kisses his cheek and then gives Chibs a light peck on his forehead before grabbing her purse and petting Mina.  
  
“Don’t forget the laundry, Alexander and there’s lasagna in the fridge. Don’t kill anyone, boys. Byeee!”  
  
When the door sounds, soft and careful as always, Tig still has the bacon in his mouth and he takes a slow bite before he looks at Chibs, with a little self-ironic but warm smile.  
  
“I’m fucked, right?”  
“Aye. Ye are, brother. Ye definitely are…”


	87. Chapter 87

He’s thinking of Tully. Of how much he hated him and then didn’t. Not as much. He recalls the way the nazi sometimes held him through his nightmares, almost like he cared. That he still used to read to him sometimes and didn’t allow anyone else to fuck him. In his worst moments, Juice can’t really see any difference between being someones asshole and someones murder tool. He seized to feel like himself long before Stockton.  
  
_But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people._ The Bible quote that suddenly pops up in his memory, probably from one of the “reborn” inmates who walked around quoting that shit all the time, describes him perfectly. The meds have dampened the pain far more than he deserves, and he’s not strong enough to abstain now. It’s been years since he slept this well at night and his joints and muscles aren’t screaming at him constantly. Is it possible to sink lower than missing your rapist at nights because when the darkness came and the sounds from other inmates only made you feel more lonely and vulnerable, he was the only one who kept you company?  
  
Rather than being waked up by Juice’s nightmares, Tully kept him in his own bunk.  It didn’t happen all too often and Juice always dreaded it at first, never really knowing if he should expect being fucked or not. Fucked, not raped. You don’t use the other word in that position because that’ll only make it worse. At least Juice did. Being fucked sounds less worse even if you and everyone else know exactly what it really means. There’s a sick form of freedom in giving up, not just everything you love and has been a part of, but everything that makes you more than a piece of meat thrown to the dogs.  
  
_I accept that._ Juice smiles at the memory of Chucky’s catch phrase, almost giggles as he walks back to the depressing room. He feels dizzy and a little sick in the stomach. The day has been strange and he’s not heard from Chibs since the man called him crying. Juice understands if he doesn’t want to call again, at least not now.  
  
He’s finally by the depressing motel and he squeezes the key in his pocket. Feels like he has lead in his feet and he’s grateful no one’s bumping into him, forcing him to say hello and seeing what a zombie he is right now. He puts the key in the lock, but it’s already open and Juice looks at the knob. He locked, he knows that. He’s always been extremely careful with locks and keys and he’s never, not even while stoned, left or entered his home without locking.  
  
The old life reminds itself as he quickly stands close to the wall, listening. No sounds from inside, not even a little mewl and Juice turns cold, no longer worried for his own sake and he pushes the door open with a foot, waits a second and then fumbles to find the light button on the wall from outside.  
  
The cold, bright light reveals no human, but mayhem. Juice swallows as he sees the complete disaster of the room and what little possessions he has. The bed has been cut up and the floor is covered in feathers, shredded foam rubber from the mattress and teared sheets. By the closet, what used to be his clothes lies in a sad pile of ripped rags and the smell of ammonia makes any closer look unnecessairy. The walls have been sprayed with graffiti paint, no gang symbols or text, just a determined destruction in neon green and all over the kitchenette, litter and kibble are sprinkled along with milk, ketchup and cereals.  
  
It’s dead silent and Juice takes a deep breath.  
  
“Dyna? C’mere, kitty…”  
  
No answer. No purr, mewl or sound of claw scraping.  
  
Juice takes another step inside, opening the bathroom door and the same sight meets him there. Toothpaste, laundry powder, shaving foam… all sprinkled everywhere and there are shit smeared on the walls in the shower cabin. Slowly, he turns to the cabin over the sink, the mirror is cracked and what little he has of products in there are destroyed on the floor, except for the meds. All the meds are gone and no Dyna is hiding in the scattered laundry .  
  
“What’s happened here?”  
  
Juice jumps and his heart is racing when he turns around, seeing Miss Holland with a murderous look on her face.  
  
“I-I… I just came home and…”  
”Is that litter?”  
  
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Juice nods, can’t seem to actually find his voice now and Miss Holland looks disgusted and disappointed.  
  
“Who did this, Ortiz?”  
”I… don’t know, ma’m. It… I just came back from work…”  
“Get your things.”  
“What?”  
”Get your things, Ortiz! You have a hearing problem?”  
”No, ma’m, but I…”  
  
The slap is more humiliating than painful and Juice doesn’t even flinch. The landlady has picked up her phone and she points at Juice with a poorly painted nail.  
  
“You have exactly two minutes to get your trash and leave, before I call the police. Keys!”  
  
Numb and automatically, Juice picks up his trash because that’s literally what it is and stuffs it in his backback. He takes one last look for Dyna but the woman points at the clock and Juice quickly scrambles outside. He wants to say something, needs her to know he’s not been into anything illegal or gang related since getting out but it’s very clear she’s not gonna listen and Juice can’t blame her.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
He’s not sure if she hears it, but it’s honest nontheless. Miss Holland didn’t deserve this and she’ll probably call the cops as soon as Juice is gone. He walks along the corridor and then down the stair, hoping not too many guests see him. When he looks back to see of anyone’s seeing or following him, he spots a marking on the window he for some reason didn’t see until now.  
  
A bright, green, smiling face.


	88. Chapter 88

The message says he’s tired and almost asleep. Nothing more. Chibs isn’t really surprised or worried for that matter. Since after breakfast, he’s been busy at Teller-Morrow and Tig seems just as relieved as him to not talk about anything but club business. They’ve not mentioned Juice anymore and the text from him gives Chibs a chance to act like usual. He needs it, the club needs it. Stability and consistency is the only way to recovery for Samcro, which at least all fully patched members understand.  
  
Chibs watches Ratboy and T.O. patiently giving one of the prospects a lesson in how to not ruin an old Ford for one of their customers, before closing time. The kid, a twentyfive-year-old from Fresno, ill-tempered but very efficiant and quick to learn once he’s done cursing everything and everyone for every little thing not going his way, isn’t the kind of prospect Chibs would’ve given a chance two years or even one year ago. Too risky to have in heated situations but as that kind of business has decreased more and more, Samcro can afford to widen the perspective a bit. They don’t need more people seeking too many highs and thrills, at least not newbies who’re not yet molded into the cut. With Tig and Happy alive and well, it’s not as if the club lack resources if there’s a sudden need to handle something really ugly.  
  
Yes, Samcro is changing. With fifteen charters spread over three countries, Sons Of Anarchy is a big and clunky rock to move. It’s a slow and tedious process and Chibs is very much aware of what a delicate situation it is. The vote to turn Samcro legal was unanimous and Chibs knows it was as much about Bobby’s death as all the shit from the Tellers. He mourned Jax, yes, but the loss of Bobby felt like literally loosing a corner stone of the club. They all miss him, the right forward, calm and steadfast voice of reason who never lost sight of the big picture and had that extra layer of compassion. He had the moral compass Clay lacked, the patience Jax could’ve had but never evolved and a genuine will to give people a second chance.   
  
It’s as much because of him, the completely meaningless and unfair death he suffered due to Jax’s heat, that has made the more violent and risky members such as Happy and Alessandro turning things down a bit. Just keeping the _legal_ customers and not having all of them choosing another shop, has required some hard-ass work. Lots of charity, fundraising and not to mention keeping a very low money profile. It’s been difficult for some members – and their old ladies – to understand that in order to become legit in the eyes of Charming, you can’t start sprinkling the kind of money around that is clearly more than a mechanic biker earn.   
  
But more than anything, what keeps Chibs busy in a way that he sometimes even misses the heat, is to maintain the balance. To make sure that the other charters are clear with what’s happening within Redwood, that no decisions are made behind their backs and that mostly legal definitely doesn’t mean to rat out or get other charters into trouble in any way. Going towards legality is a choice for every single charter and requires a unanimous aye along with a real, longterm plan to not cause imbalance or chaos.  
  
Chaos… He’s been so angry with Juice. Disappointed, hurt to the core in a way even Jackieboy couldn’t make him feel. Some distance, even if it’s only a few miles now, is necessairy. Still, Chibs misses him and yes, he worries a bit too when not making an effort to push the thoughts away. Being tired doesn’t mean Juice will be getting any sleep and if he does, there’s always the risk of nightmares and panic attacks. By not seeing him now, Chibs is able to feel a bit more like himself. He’s never shown that kind of caring, almost fussing side before and honestly, it’s quite uncomfortable. Not while doing it, no, it’s come completely spontanous and easy, like that softness has been a part of him all along only not showing. Getting back in his usual skin takes some time after seeing Juice and that’s what Chibs worries will show on him.  
  
It’s been a shock, he guesses. Chibs still watches the impatient prospect, now earning a swat on the back of his head from T.O. and the pres hides a smile when Tig growls from the other side of the garage that he’ll rape the prospects dad if he doesn’t stop bitching. The full-patched guys hearing him, laugh and the prospect blushes, clearly not sure how serious the threat is and Chibs knows no one will tell him, but let the kid walk around nervous for a while until he dares to ask himself. Some lads need to walk on their tip-toes for a bit longer to get rid of unwanted traits and manners.  
  
Juice… Thinking of him when he was still a prospect isn’t helping. Jax was his sponsor on paper but truly, Chibs was the one Juice turned to and no one was more proud and happy when the kid was approved and got patched in, than Chibs. They all teased Juice, a lot. Not that they didn’t with all prospects and fresh patched members, but Juice simply invited to it with those big, confused puppy-eyes and sometimes unbelievable stupidity. At the same time, he was calm, fully able to laugh at himself and his technical skills probably saved more money than they earned on the mechanic shop. Neither Jax nor Opie were into computors, despite being in the same age, and that made Juice a very valueble resource. The fact that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box on other matters, a bit shy and clearly not very stable on his own were simply his weaknesses, just as the others had theirs.  
  
Remembering, _allowing_ himself to remember the good years, thinking of Juice before it all turned to shit but without denying his own feelings, is kind of bittersweet. Chibs can’t name a specific moment, space of time or happening when Juice became something more than a brother to him. The feelings haven’t always been the same, falling for Juice wasn’t a clear, solid experience but something that came gradually. Or at least the awareness of it. How Chibs would get that kind of tug in his belly from a certain look or a sunny smile. How the way the kid’s muscles glistened in the sunlight after a workout or the way he would explain nerdy computor stuff with the voice of an exasperate but patient teacher whenever the club’s oldest hicks got in touch with the 21th century and couldn’t deal with it.   
  
Juice’s confidence was always so clear, bright and natural in those situations. Whenever he felt in control, any nervous ticks or immature traits were gone and Chibs got to see the man beneath the insecure naivity. Where Clay and Jax saw a tool, Bobby saw a young boy and Chibs… well, he guesses he simply saw that goddamn smile, those puppy-eyes and the swaying between bright intelligence and complete stupidity. He takes a quick look around to make sure Chucky is busy elsewhere before closing the office door and taking up his phone.   
  
Fortyfive minutes and three calls going to voicemail later, Chibs grabs his cut and leaves, obliviously gritting his teeth.


	89. Chapter 89

Without wheels, running away isn’t as easy. Not that it ever felt easy on wheels either, just more practical. Juice has blisters on his heels and the soles of his feet aches from hours of walking, just endless walking around and around, looking for Dyna and hiding from Happy, the cops and basically everyone right now. It’s not very likely anyone would try and track his cell, it’s not as if he’s accused of murder, but he’s turned it off nontheless.  
  
Stockton is big enough to disappear in, if you know where to hide. Problem is, if Happy or worse, the entire club, is looking for him, there aren’t many places for Juice to hide. All he can do now, is to stay away from the places he knows the club would look into first, as well as the areas most frequently used by it’s members and their families. That means he’s pretty much forced to get deeper into Central Valley, where it’s takes too much effort to search for a simple ex-communicated punk like him. Not even Happy would waste the time and energy on that.  
  
The darkness doesn’t scare Juice, he just keeps walking with the light backpack bouncing behind him. He didn’t take any food with him, there was no time to look for something still edible in the mess on the floor and all he has with him, is half a bottle of water, a banana he saved from lunch and a tube of fruit pastilles, bought on break. There’s the plastic jar with kibble too, not all of it was destroyed, so if he finds Dyna, he’ll have some food for her. Unless Happy killed her.  
  
Juice has tried hard not to get into panic or break, not until he’s on some distance from the immediate risk of getting into more trouble, but the thought of his yellowred little friend dead or alone and wounded somewhere, maybe mewling for her life and not knowing where her daddy is… He becomes aware of how tight his chest is, how hard he’s breathing and the fact that he’s really alone, can’t see nor hear a single human being, only nightbirds and the wind in the trees. He stops by a broad pinetree, peeking tall and mighty to the starlit sky and only then he realises he’s been running for a while, not walking, sweat dripping down his forehead and pulse beating like it’s trying to break his skin. He sinks down, using the bole as support for his back and rests his head on the knees.  
  
He’s on the run, literally, from cops and Samcro alike and it’s only a matter of time before he’s forced to come forth. There’s nowhere to go outside the forest, that would be safe and staying here is not an option for more than a few days. Juice isn’t unused to wilderness, but surviving in it without weapons, tools and only a scrap of food along with clothes definitely not fit for this wildlife, is simply not possible but not even the risk of meeting a mountain lion feels as terrifying as running into a Samcro member or the cops right now. Or why not some armed hillbilly friend of Miss Holland’s?   
  
The coarse pinetree is uncomfortable as hell, but Juice doesn’t notice it. His back is too numb, muscles too strained and tense to feel, but he can’t help a whimper when he moves to take his old boots off and make sure the knife he keeps in the right shaft out of habit, is still there. He’s got his lighter in the front pocket of his jacket along a package of cigarettes and there’s no sign of bad weather – or bad people – coming, so Juice ights a smoke with still shaky hands and tries to breathe slower. He searches through his left pocket as well, but only finds the little can of tuna he bought for Dyna the other day and apparantly forgot about.  
  
He stares at the can, eyes weary and sore from hours of running with the wind in his face. Did Happy kill Dyna? Juice remembers how Tully got news from outside that one of the AB members had threatened to “fix his bitches” – the plural form clearly meaning the shot caller’s dogs outside and not his prison bitch. Tully had gone furious, in his stone cold, absolutely terrifying way and Juice had hunched on his bunk all day, trying to stay as silent and invisible as possible. After dinner, one of the guards had come for Tully, leaving Juice to breathe for a little while in the cell and once the shot caller returned, he once more looked like his usual, smug self and even stroked Juice’s cheek with a little smile, clearly seeing how tense his bitch was.  
  
Juice didn’t dare to ask, but Tully seemed pent-up from the stress yet not less controlled than usual, meaning he didn’t take out any anger on his punk by bruising him up. A couple of days later, Juice heard other cons talk about how an AB man had been found, chewed into impossibly of reckognition by what the cops assumed were fight dogs. Multiple. Tully’s anger was gone and he was once again the self-controlled, feared shot caller and the only sign of a dog owner fearing for his four-legged friends, was the photos Tully looked through, hidden in a book when he thought Juice didn’t saw.   
  
The nazi liked animals, loved his pets, but so did Hitler and Juice was genuinly surprised when Tully’s momentarily softness extended to the nightly rape. Instead of making Juice bleed and cry he was almost gentle, as if the relief of knowing his dogs were safe and the person threatening to hurt them was taken cared of, made Tully grateful enough to let some of that relief spill over onto his human bitch, so much lower down on the scale of respect and care than his beloved dogs. A scrap of kindness in a place where Juice didn’t expect it from anyone.   
  
His mind is exhausted and completely focused on keeping itself occupied enough to keep the panic and anxiety at bay, at least so he can wind down a little. A small rustle at a nearby shrubbery makes him shiver and before he can stop himself, he whispers in the darkness:  
  
“Dyna…?”  
  
Two eyes gleaming among the trees look at him for a moment before disappearing and Juice looks down on the tuna can, still in his hand. A second later, he stubs out his smoke, pulls his knees closer to his chest and let the exhaustion and fear take him, crying calmly in silence even though there’s no one, not even a fox to hear him.


	90. Chapter 90

“We’re keeping an eye out for him, Chibs, but lets be real here: it’s not a priority this early on. I’m sorry. As it looks now, Juice trashed his place and took off, even if I admit it doesn’t really makes sense.”  
  
Althea really seems like she’s sincere and Chibs knows that she wouldn’t keep shit that’s not confidential from him when he asks like this. He knows it’s stupid to worry this much, that Juice is a grown man and only a few weeks ago Chibs was more upset by his presence. He strokes his hair back.  
  
“He wouldn’t jus’ take off like tha’.”  
“You’re sure about that?”  
  
Honestly, no, but one thing Juice definitely wouldn’t do, is trashing his place and leave that fucking kitten. He could’ve taken her with him, but the floor was apparantly covered in kibble and litter. The creature wasn’t there and Chibs seriously doubts Juice would destroy her food. Althea shrugs.  
  
“Look, I know he’s got no record of vandalism and his boss was very surprised he didn’t show up at work. Apparantly, he’s behaved himself way above expectations and Walsh hasn’t gotten a single complaint until now.”  
“Aye. Tha’s why I _worry_ , Althea.”  
“Have you asked the Sons?”  
  
She sounds a little amused, or ironic, because of course she knows Juice has more reasons than the parole to stay on the right side of the law. Chibs looks her straight in the eyes.  
  
“He’s not the club’s problem anymore and no one’s supposed to touch or even talk to’im.”  
“Except the pres?”  
“Ye know _exactly_ wha’ I mean, Althea!”  
  
This woman is dangerous in her own way and Chibs knows he can’t tell her more than this, but at least he can trust her not to make things worse. She’s not a dirty cop, but she’s no damn Captain America either and isn’t involved in politics or have relationships that could compromise her job too much. Not anymore, at least. Chibs bites his lip again.  
  
“Look, Juice is a fucking cleaning and organizing maniac. He’d _never_ trash a place and especially not his own. And he… he had this kitten.”  
“I know, the landlady told me. It wasn’t allowed.”  
“So ye think Juice would trash his stuff, destroy the pet food and then just take off? E’s not well, Althea, and I don’ know but…”  
“You think he’d harm himself?”  
“Aye… maybe, I don’ know. His phone’s off too and noone’s seen’im since yesterday.”  
  
Althea sighs and nods.  
  
“I’ll register him as missing, give his boss a call and tell Eglee to take an extra round looking for him tonight, okay? That’s really all I can do right now, Chibs. There’s not been any reports of cars or other vehicles stolen either so he’s probably on foot or maybe he hitch hiked, but I’ll keep you posted.”  
“Thanks.”  
  
He means it, truly. When leaving the station, Chibs feels at least not more worried than before he went in. He can’t go looking for Juice now, he has club business to attend and it would probably only do more damage if Chibs revealed himself by chasing around Charming and Stockton.    
  
The landlady, who was anything but happy to see Samcro’s pres on her motel demanding to see the room, had been rambling about trust, animals and ex-cons and gang members so it was very clear she thought Juice had brought this on himself. It hadn’t been all cleaned when Chibs came and the only signs of Juice being there at all, was the litter, food and toothpaste smeared over the place. What little stuff he owned fitted in his backpack and the landlady showed Chibs the dirty, green water in the bucket she’d apparantly used to clean the walls with.  
  
Chibs sits on his bike, lighting a fag. The very moment that woman showed Juice’s room, Chibs knew Juice didn’t do it. The kid is freakishly scrupulous with cleaning and order and would never destroy anything for his kitten. Someone’s decided to scare him and succeeded. And that someone is very likely a Samcro brother. Happy, Ratboy, Quinn… Chibs can’t think of Tig, T.O. or Montez to do anything like this without a clear yay vote and normally he wouldn’t believe that bout the other three members either. Ratboy and Happy wanted Juice dead but Montez had nothing personal against Juice, considering they don’t know each other. Montez will see this unclouded by earlier wounds and bonds, but Ratboy was extremely upset with Juice’s betrayal and Happy has made no secret of how unimpressed he was when there was no second Mayhem vote.  
  
How much does he know? What do the others know? Chibs’ stomach is twitching and he feels sick. Juice is on the run, he must be, because… Because no one would wait for him to leave the trashed room, knowing the landlady would throw him out and then take him out.  Not these days, it’s too risky. Juice has nowhere to go, no car or bike or even a lousy bicycle to take him far from Stockton. Busses are few here and the easiest way to find someone since waiting on a spot could mean at least thirty minutes in a very public place if you’re unlucky. Juice wouldn’t afford a cab and he’s got no place to go, no one to reach out to and the idiot is probably more worried about the cat than himself anyway.  
  
And what about Chibs? He just feels like driving around looking and screaming, not caring a shite about what it would do for his or Samcro’s reputation. He wont, though. At least not in broad daylight and visible for everyone. He’s been bursting in his seems with the conflict inside him, reason and emotions, guilt and relief in a constant fight and definitely not helped by scotch and too much coffee.  
  
“Where the hell are ye, Juicyboy and what are ye runnin’ from this time…?”  
  
There’s no answer except the ache in his chest and the tugging in his still too fat belly. Just before he’s about to start his bike, his insides flip over and he throws up his greesy lunch on the parking lot.


	91. Chapter 91

It’s not good to just stop taking meds, Juice knows that, but loosing direction and control of yourself is worse and he’s only got enough in his bag for emergency panic attacks. It’s been almost fortyeight hours now since he fled like a criminal and technically he is, since he’s on parole and just violated the terms. If he’s found, it’s either by a Son, putting a bullet in his head or by a cop or lawful citizen and heading straight back to jail. Then it wont matter if he found Dyna or not, which he hasn’t.  
  
Juice is sitting under a tree, knees pressed to his chest. He’s dirty and cold but not unbearingly so and it’s dinner time, or at least it is for normal people. He takes the last pitiful pieces of fruit pastilles with a mouthful of the water from a spring he refilled his bottle with. It doesn’t taste as fresh now, but at least he wont get weak from thirst and even if the nights are cold, this is California and it wont kill him. The freezing is more due to his bodily state than the outdoor temperature and if could take his relaxatives, he probably wouldn’t freeze as much.  
  
Why care, anyway? Dyna is probably dead, Happy trashed the room and Juice fled the scene in a way that screams of guilt, maybe not of the vandalism but of something and now he’s on the run again. The old feelings of shame, self-hatred, desperation and fear from the days before prison are back with full force and although there’s a logic part of his brain telling him that going cold turkey on the meds most definitely is a part of his current state of mind, it doesn’t stop the guilt and shame from washing all over him again and the only difference this time, is that he’s crying.  
  
He’s so tired and right now almost grateful for that and the numb cold, since they dampen the pain and worry, making him cry not out of despair but exhaustion. That means he’ll soon get some rest even without meds. Worrying about wild animals is pointless and a lethal snake bite would be better than running into Happy. Animals kill for food or defence, not for fun and they don’t drag it out.  
  
Juice closes his eyes and thinks of Tully. _You went out good, sweetheart._ No, he didn’t, but Tully didn’t know the most skilled fucking prison doc was working that day and also happened to be close to the cafeteria.  
  
The acceptance of death, when Juice had decided to stop fighting, had given him a few days of something almost reminding of peace before the overturning of himself in the cafeteria. A kind of relief, of finally choosing something rather than being a tool, even if the choice was his own death. He’d waited a while before the right opportunity came, and the time between making up his mind and handing Tully the weapon, had been strangely soothing. Like he didn’t feel anything, like he was empty but no longer ripped apart.  
  
He remembers how Tully’s arm around his chest was firm and warm, how the man’s voice was soothing, sweet even, when he carried out the green light. It was a way easier death than the Son’s would’ve allowed him, far better than he deserved and in his darkest moments, Juice has often thought that’s why he survived. Because it was too good a death for a rat. Perhaps Tully thought that too once Juice came back from the infirmary to protected custody and payed tha guards to visit him, but refusing to make another try.  
  
They’d become cellies for a while, probably because of Tully’s skills in bribing the guards and Juice remembers that he couldn’t decide whether he hated it or not, since he didn’t know what to compare it to anymore when normal ceased to exist. Rapes were normal, pain was normal, loosing all sense of self-worth was normal and when Juice had nightmares, Tully would comfort him. Juice even missed the shot caller in a fucked up way when he got killed and although the new cellie definitely was an improvement in lots of ways, there was no one left to keep the nightmare abay. Maybe that’s why the other inmates left him alone, seeing that he was both useless and harmless and not worth the risk.  
  
For almost three years he’s been a walking dead and no threat to anyone. It’s probably a very suiting irony, that instead of paying his debt to the club by dying like a man, he’s to live on like a shunned coward, a haunted animal and stinking rat.  
  
The sun is lowering and Juice no longer feels his toes or fingers, his nose or lips. Slowly and steadily, the outer chill works along with the internal cold in his blood. He has no sense of time and there’s no fear or loneliness anymore. Juice feels calm, at peace, as he lets his body and mind stop caring and just waits. He’s not pulling his thoughts in any direction, but lets them float around as they come. The club, his little sister, his mother… Jax and Gemma… Tully… Chibs… The Scot is an emotional man despite all his preaching about reason and Juice knows he’ll be sad for a while, but never let the emotions take over in total. He has Tig, the club and his daughter.  
  
Juice smiles through his tears, the first genuinly happy one for a very long time as the evening sets and prepares for the night’s arrival. This little confused and fucked up interruption of normality is soon over and then there’s no more need for compromising…


	92. Chapter 92

Chibs knows it before Tig speaks. The man’s face is genuinly regretful and he shakes his head.  
  
“No sign of him. Venus came up empty too. Sorry, Chibs.”  
“Thanks…”  
  
Tig throws a look around Chibs’ boring place and sits down on one of the chairs in the rarely used kitchen. He leans back and adjusts the straps around his thigh where his knife is attached. It would only take a second for him to pick it up and put it between Chibs’ ribs with one, skilled throw.  
  
“You know… Chibs, you’ve never been good at keeping secrets. At least not from me.”  
“Oh, for fucks sake… Just spit it out!”  
  
He barks it, partly because he’s tired but mostly due to being absolutely miserable and exhausted from keeping it hidden. Tig doesn’t look the least worried, only a little thoughtful and he swallows.  
  
“You walk around thinking no one understands, brother, and you’re right, most don’t. You’ve been acting strange, but not too strange and it’s been easy to convince the club that you’ve had some family issues.”  
“Family issues?”  
  
Tig shrugs.  
  
“Had to tell them _something_ , brother. Figured a little lie about your kid having a rough time with Fiona and you worrying would come out better than…”  
“Than what?”  
“Than finding out the pres is brooding over Juice Ortiz.”  
“I’m not brooding!”  
“No? Then tell me what the fuck it _is_ , Chibs? I’m not telling a soul and you fucking know that. Haven’t I always kept secrets?”  
  
Chibs just nods.  
  
“Aye, ye have.”  
“You’ve not only accepted, but fully embraced my relationship with Venus, brother. You understand what that meant for me?”  
  
He does. Without the acceptance from Jax, Chibs and ultimately the rest of the patched members, Tig would’ve been left to either sneak behind their backs or choose between the club and Venus. Tig plays with the pendant on his necklace.  
  
“I know you’ve all joked about my freaks over the years and I’ve been fine with that. Not as if I told you to stop or tried to hide it and I knew you didn’t mind as long as I kept it discrete. But Venus…”  
  
Tig shakes his head, still rubbing the hidden symbol of Venus.  
  
“Venus aint a freak, brother.”  
“Never said she was, Tig.”  
“No… But I understand how most people think. It doesn’t matter what they think of me, but…”  
“It matters what they think of her.”  
“Yeah… Well, not really, but I don’t want the club or our associates thinking that she’s some kind of joke. They wont say it to her face or mine but, you know… People are simpleminded.”  
“Venus is a… trans-whatever it’s called, I don’t know the right term, but Juice is a goddamn traitor.”  
“So were Jax! And Clay made me kill Donna, because of an uncomfirmed suspicion Opie had ratted. If I’d just taken a better look, Chibs… Had I just been a little more… _fucking suspicious_ and not immediately trusted Clay…”  
“Don’t beat yerself up ‘bout Donna, Tiggy. That’s in the past.”  
“And so is the Teller-Moore family!”  
  
Tigs rubs a hand over his face, clearly upset.  
  
“We lost… so much because of that damn family’s secrets, Chibs. Did Juice deserve to die for what he did? Yes, he did and no matter how much I hated that Aryan freakshow for not carrying out the green light a second time, we both know Juice didn’t waver or tried to get away. He should’ve died and didn’t. But what about Donna? What about her and Opie, Tara, Dawn... Otto and Luann… I’m sick and tired of funerals, brother. Of burying friends and family… my own daughter. I see that the idea of having Juice meeting Mr. Mayhem not only bothers you. I’ll never get Dawn back and can’t unmade what I did to Donna and Opie but maybe… I don’t know, maybe letting Juice be is the right thing to do.”  
  
Chibs just stares at him and Tig sighs.  
  
“I’m not doing this for him, Chibs, and since there’s not been a second Mayhem vote I don’t consider it treason either. Not killing him or deliberately seeing him. But if Juice is on the run and his place was thrashed, then…”  
  
The man shrugs and Chibs knows. Knows all too well what that means. No body doesn’t mean there isn’t one elsewhere. He swallows.  
  
“Happy… or Ratboy…”  
  
He hates this, feels sick to his guts even mentioning their names as if they were they traitors and not Juice, but Tig just nods.  
  
“I’ll keep them busy. And I’ll ask Venus to keep looking.”  
“Thanks.”  
“You could always talk to Juice’s boss, you know. Better than nothing.”  
“Aye… maybe… Ye don’t seem surprised byt this.”  
“By what?”  
“This… thing with Juice.”  
  
Tig shakes his head, letting out something reminding of a laughter.  
  
“Man… You had it bad for him even before he was patched in, brother. Don’t worry, not even Gemma suspected anything and not to speak ill of our brothers, but most of them are – or were – oblivious to shit less obvious than slamming a dick in a guy’s face. No one knew, I never told a soul and I never will, Chibs. Why you think no one got in your face about it?”  
  
Chibs really doesn’t know what to say and Tig raises from the table, patting his shoulder.  
  
“Try and keep your shit together, pres. I’ll see you at church tonight.”  
“Aye. Thanks.”  
  
Tig nods and puts his cut on, leaving Chibs feeling only slightly less miserable and far more confused than before.


	93. Chapter 93

“Good gracious… What are you…? Hello? Juan? Juan Carlos Ortiz? _Juice!_ ”  
  
He knows the voice from somewhere but it doesn’t matter. Juice is asleep. Finally so deep in sleep and he can’t feel anything. He doesn’t want to wake up, refuses to let that slightly familiar voice drag him to the surface and there are noises, muffled like he’s under water. He’s floating and it feels like nothing, literally _nothing_.  
  
Someone touches him, moves him and on some level Juice knows it, hears words and grunts, sounds of a person trying to move a clunky, uncooperative pile of flesh.   
  
This must be it. This is how it feels to be dead. Or doesn’t feel. Of course they must move his body. Can you still think once you’re dead? Maybe he’s only on the edge, waiting for that final sigh. He’s numb, motionless and empty and it’s glorious. The best feeling – or not feeling – ever. Someone’s moving, lifting, carrying him but there’s no motion left in his skin or muscles. They’re completely lifeless, sending no signals of pain or any feeling what so ever and that must mean he’s dead.  
  
Juice smiles and the man carrying him in his arms is running. Talking.   
  
“Juan Carlos, can you hear me?”  
_  
Juan Carlos_ means he’s in trouble. Nothing new there and Juice still wont wake up. He’s only touching the consciousness, that thing his current state of mind is certain of to be death. He’s escaped it for far too long already and now that it’s here again, he smiles, welcoming it with open arms. If only he wasn’t so damn tired…   
  
A slap on his cheek, then another and again. Hard, stingy strikes and Juice opens his eyes, staring into a pair of light blue ones under a hat brim.  
  
“Come on, boy, look at me! How long have you been out here, you reckless idiot?!”  
  
The voice is sharp and Juice startles, getting pulled out from the sleep and he winks at the face in the sharp flashlight. The white collar finally gives it away.  
  
“Pa-padre?”  
“Yes, it’s me, Juan. Are you injured? Can you walk?”  
  
The priest squeezes Juice’s feet and calves, muttering something when Juice hisses.   
  
“No walking, then... Well, hold on then, boy. Arm around my neck, that’s it… Good gracious, you’re like ice…”  
  
Calm. Soothing, even. It doesn’t hurt, but it probably should and Juice remembers something about running, wounds, water and… the thrashed room. The priest is taking him back to town! Juice stiffens, tries to get down again and whimpers a protest when he’s being held steady. But the priest stops and helps Juice to sit again, not letting go of him but putting an arm arund his shoulders, rubbing it a little.  
  
“We gotta get you warm, Juan. Please, come with me, I can’t leave you here. I have to carry you to my car, alright?”  
“Wha… What are… you… do…”  
“You were reported missing. Have been looking all over for you.”  
“Co-cops…”  
  
It’s the cold that makes him stutter, at least he wants to believe that now as he’s gradually loosing the unconsciousness. The priest rubs his back once again and worms out of his own coat, wrapping it around Juice’s body before lifting him again.  
  
“Don’t worry, Juan. It’s not a crime to be afraid.”  
  
He sounds so certain, the grip around Juice is firm but not hard and the coat is warm. Juice’s eyelids are drooping again and the light, not from a flashlight but a bright moon, is fading. The fast but soft rocking in the priest’s arms unintentionally lulls him to sleep and the only thing he can hear in his half-conscious state, is Tully’s soft voice. _You went out good, sweetheart._  
  
He did. Juice looses consciousness without any anxiety or fear, lips numb from the cold but lax and neutral. Yes, he went out good…


	94. Chapter 94

He could kiss her. He doesn't, but he could.  
  
“I ran into Trager and he told me you were here. Didn’t want to… just call.”  
  
She looks around the livingroom, not hiding her surprise over Venus’ tasteful and very female decorating. Chibs lights a fag, trying not to show how he’s shaking. The first blow is the best he’s had in… probably since the one he had after stabbing Jimmy O. Like he’s once again finished something hanging over him for fifteen years.  
  
Althea pulls a chair out for herself, not waiting for an invitation to sit. Not that she needs one, with these news. She leans forward, touching his knee casually, like a friend.  
  
“Filip? You’re alright?”  
“Aye.”  
  
He nods, feeling the nicotine finally hit and he sighs, closing his eyes and without even thinking, he crosses himself because it’s in his system, no matter his actual faith. Althea pats his knee again.  
  
“Father Dawson found him. The new priest.”  
“He ran into him?”  
“No, he was out looking. Juice does the food deliveries for his parish and he got worried when the kid didn’t show up so he came to see us.”  
“Why?”  
  
A delivery boy. If Juice was younger, Chibs might have suspected the priest for being up to something nasty but that’s just being unfair. So is expecting clerks to not give a shit about people like Juice, and maybe it’s just Chibs’ own lack of empathy that speaks. Why should anyone look for a pathetic, former gang member on parole, just because it’s the most humane thing to do?  
  
“Where’s he now?”  
“Can’t tell you that, Filip.”  
  
Of course not. He’s not listed as next of kin to Juice and it’s not exactly a secret that Juice was ex-communicated. Not officially, but still.  
  
“He’s gonna make it without any lasting damage, I can tell you that. At least no physical.”  
  
Chibs closes his eyes again, shaking his head.  
  
“He didn’t do this to… run away from law, Althea.”  
“I know.”  
  
She says is plain and simple, like it’s nothing to discuss and she takes his hand, squeezing it a little.  
  
“Hey, Filip? I’ll see if you can visit him, alright? Can’t promise anything and I’ll have to wait until he’s fit to see anyone at all, but I’ll talk to him when the hospital gives clearance. What I can advice you, inofficially of course, is for you to see the priest.”  
“What about the cat?”  
“Cat?”  
“Juicy’s kitten. Anyone found it?”  
“No, but I’ll make a notification of missing. You have a picture?”  
  
Chibs shakes his head. Why the hell would he have a pic of Juice’s bloody kitten?  
  
“T’is yellowred. Juice wouldn’t leave it.”  
“He brough cat food in his bag. Maybe he went out looking for it.”  
“Aye…”  
  
It makes sence. At least more than Juice leaving the creature behind. Whoever did this to him, will pay. Chibs isn’t sure how, when or who it is, but if it’s someone from the club it’s a clear violation of a club decision and, no matter how much Chibs hates to admit it, an attack on his right as a pres to associate if necessairy with someone who isn’t a part of the club anymore, but hasn’t earned a Mayhem vote. That right isn’t for personal matters though, which Chibs is very much aware of, but only for strictly business matters and, maybe, if there is the slightest chance for the man to make it right and earn the patch again.  
  
Althea pats his hand again and then raises from the chair.  
  
“I’ll keep you posted, Filip. And I know you wont rat on your brothers so I wont ask you to, but _if_ you care about Juice I expect you to keep your club in check.”  
“This wasn’t a club decision.”  
“Then you either have one or several members who went behind the pres’ back, or someone associated with you, who decided to scare Juice off.”  
“He’s been in Stockton for three years, Althea. Ye think he’s some kinda’ innocent little kid who didn’t make any enemies in there?”  
  
He’s angry now, ready to defend his club, but Althea shakes her head.  
  
“I’ve talked to his parole officer, Chibs. Juice didn’t make a single friend _or_ enemy inside. He kept to himself, has a spotless record from Stockton and no incidents that suggests he was involved in any beefs what so ever. No friends, no gangs, no visits, calls or letters except from his lawyer.”  
“No one? _At all?_ ”  
“No one, Chibs, but you didn’t hear that from me.”  
  
She walks to the door and Chibs gets up too but she just wavers him off.  
  
“I know where the door is, Filip. Oh, and in case you’re wondering: Juice staying silent all that time, wasn’t due to lack of trying. You now, from cops, guards, inmates, the feds… his lawyer. According to the files, and you know, I’ve got access to all of yours... Juice is the only one to have kept silent for that long and survived. He could’ve sold you out, paid back for the ex-communication on numerous occasions, helped shutting down the club for good, but he didn’t.”  
  
Chibs just stares at her, unable to speak and she opens the door, turning around again.  
  
“Thought you might wanted to know that. I mean, just in case you thought he’d brought this on himself this time. I’ve convinced the judge that Juice didn’t intentionally violate the parole terms and his boss has vouched for him too, so I’m pretty sure he’s not going back inside for this.”  
  
She gives a little smile.  
  
“We’ll keep in touch, Filip. Take care.”  
  
The door closes. He didn’t kiss her.


	95. Chapter 95

“Please, stop tugging, Juan! It’s for your own safety. Don’t… Ouch! You little beast!”  
“Nurse?”  
“Yes, father?”  
“Is this really necessairy?”  
  
They’re talking, not to him but above him. Juice opens his eyes and sees the nurse and… yes, the priest standing beside him. He tugs again at the cuffs, locking both his wrists to the bed and the voices, the light, the restrains suddenly makes him angry.  
  
“Get’em off me!”  
  
This is not his voice. It’s barely audible, just a hoarse whisper and a cough runs through his chest, making his ribs ache and the attack wipes out everything but the pain, exploding inside him. Complete and utter pain and panic, he can’t even scream and the voices above him, the hands touching him, only makes it worse.   
  
“Tully… Where’s Tully…?”  
  
If Tully is here, then Juice is dead for sure and this is… well…   
  
“Who’s Tully, Juan?”  
  
The priest. Juice blinks a few times and reality starts creeping up on him. The pain, the smell of disinfectant, he cuffs rattling against the metal bed.   
  
_“No…”_  
  
It’s merely a whimper, it’s all his body seems able to produce and he shuts his eyes, as the devestating failure hits him with full force. He startles when hands are trying to soothe him and he shoves them off as much as the cuffs allow him to, he refuses to listen, to look or answer. His mind cuts the voices off, can only hear his own inner, accusing stream of words.   
  
Snitch. Failure. Rat. Bitch. Punk. Spic. Nigerrican. Scum. Moron. Trash. Traitor. Coward. _Ye fucking coward…_ _You went out good, sweetheart…  
_  
He can’t even die properly, not even with help. Another shaky whimper thrashes his lungs and he knows for sure Tully isn’t here, nor is anyone else who’ll help him pay the debt to Samcro and he’s stuck here in this bed until someone takes pity of him and allows him to leave.  
  
Humiliation, sorrow, hate, despair… Years of suppressed emotions welling up like his mind is puking. He can see their faces before him, all the people he let down, all those brothers and friends, the family he betrayed and all those who died before that, who never knew about his treason. Opie, Piney, Kozik…   
  
“Hold him down!”  
  
Hands. More hands he doesn’t reckognize and the panic hits the roof, rips air from his lungs and there’s bile and water in his mouth, threatening – or promising – to choke him. One cuff is suddenly removed and he’s turned to the side, spitting and whimpering because his lungs fucking hate him and the ribs feel like an iron cage around them as he throws up more bile. Then there’s a sting on his backside and he whimpers again but can’t move.  
  
“It’ll soon feel better, Juan. You know where you are?”  
  
He shakes his head, at least thinks he does and the hands get a face added to them, a woman lowering down to his laying height, white shirt, blonde hair.  
  
“Juan? Can you hear me?”  
_“Yes.”_   
  
Still no real voice but she nods and puts a hand on his useless ones.  
  
“You’re at the hospital, Juan. You got very cold and weak from laying outdoors in the forest. You remember the forest?”  
  
Yes. He nods and there’s a smile in the unfamiliar, female face.  
  
“Good. You see, the forest was very cold during night and we need to get you warm again, okay?”  
  
Warm. That makes sense. He’s been freezing for such a long time, that’s not a nice feeling. He can still feel the sting from his backside but the ribs feel less tight now, the air doesn’t hurt his lungs with every breath and he starts getting drowsy.   
  
“Maybe he needs more blankets?”  
“I’ve sent for another hypothermia blanket. Some idiot forgot to clean the last one and moved it between patients…   _Jesus Christ, this place..._ ”  
  
The voices die off and Juice stops fidgeting, the sense of floating from the dream turns to heavy numbness and moments later, he’s out.


	96. Chapter 96

Three days. Of behaving normal despite knowing someone very likely went behind his back. Chibs is good at this. Keeping his shit together and not give away secrets with body language or tone of voice. Tig knows and that’s probably what makes this charade possible, knowing there’s someone who wouldn’t  do this, not without Chibs knowing and not just for petty revenge without a vote.   
  
Knowing Juice is in safe hands – Chibs does trust Althea on this – helps, of course. At least enough to appear normal without getting a fucking ulcer from the strain. Honestly though, staying with Tig and Venus at nights, helps more. Not just because of the healthy, homecooked brekkies Venus insists on spoiling them with, but the sense of domestic bliss the place literally reeks from. Venus has a cleaning lady – technically it’s Tig’s too, but it still feels like her place and definitely her idea – and by the looks the neat, greyhaired woman gives Chibs as he stumbles out in his old bathrobe, stinking from scotch and smoke in the kitchen, she sees him as one of the things to clean out.  
  
When the call finally comes, it’s Althea and not the hospital. It feels strange, but then Chibs remembers he isn’t considered family or friend anymore. He knows he’s asking too much when trying to find out if anyone else has been to see Juice and Althea shouldn’t answer that. She does, how ever, and  the answer is not a surprise but no less depressing. Absolutely no one has asked for Juice. Not to the hospital, the cops, the prison… Oh, he forgot: the priest. Chibs admits he’s not thrilled by the idea of a clerk hanging around Juice for any reason, but at least this one isn’t a member of the True IRA. _Jesus Christ_ , what does that tell about Chibs’ lowest standard for the clerks? Anyhow, there’s still no visitors allowed. Fucking asshole docs.  
  
_Love has always come easy to him._ With Juice, it was a fucking force of nature. Unstoppable, natural and without bumps in the road. Two things stopped them: the patch and the years. You just didn’t fuck a brother. You didn’t fuck men at all, unless it was so discrete there was no risk of blow back – or in case you were Tiggy, of course. But otherwhise, the only acceptance of gay stuff, was using someone as your bitch while inside. As long as you were doing the fucking, of course, and the bitch wasn’t a brother. Loving people is all Chibs’ being. The club _is_ it’s members and the love for the patch always melts in with the love for the ones wearing it.  
  
Putting other bonds and values above the club, will lead to disaster, but it’s not always clear when you do it. Had Clay still runned the club, Tig would never be able to live with Venus and this little feminine kitchen someone like Fiona or Gemma would freak out from, hidden away in a lousy apartment, Tig couldn’t come home to but only sneak inside after making sure no one watched.  
  
Chibs still looks at the phone on his desk. Chucky is cleaning the windows today and gives his nervous smile from the outside. Chibs forces himself to smile back before pretending he’s actually working. In fact, he’s mostly just been staring before him since coming in this morning, waiting for the phone to sound and give him some news and visiting hours. He’s already yelled at a woman from city counsil and a car service customer, calling him while all he could think of was Juice.   
  
“Pres?”  
  
T.O. and Tig are entering the office and the VP closes the door behind them, waving for Chucky to leave. Chibs lets his phone be on the desk and Tig gives him a questioning look he answers with an almost invisible shake. No news. At least none of interest for Tig. T.O. clears his throat.  
  
“Just talked to Gaines again and he’s impatient.”  
“Impatient?”  
  
Chibs has no fucking idea what this is about and T.O. rolls his eyes.  
  
“The prospects you told me you’d give him a second opinion on. O’Shea and Moran, I think. Gaines sent you their files a while ago.”  
“Yeah, he was kinda’ wondering if they’d accidently went to junk mail…”  
  
Tig sounds neutral but Chibs knows better. The hardening eyes, the little frown asking him what the fuck Chibs thinks he’s doing and that his VP is seriously wondering if his pres is loosing his shit and fucking perspective because of a rat, no matter the reason. Chibs sighs.  
  
“I’ve read it, just not answered. Been a bit…”  
“Distracted? Who could’ve told… Venus is making dinner tonight, by the way.”  
“She doesn’t have t…”  
“Seven thirty. Just _be there_.”  
  
Tig has that kind of look that doesn’t accept a no and T.O. chuckles.  
  
“I’d not turn her down, pres.”  
  
Chibs groans. He knows more than well how much this means to Venus – and Tig too, for that matter – and there’s no way he can say no.  
  
“This is why I’m not married.”  
“Oh, but you are.”  
“Only on paper and most important, on a _distance_ , Tig.”  
“That’s just because you’re afraid of her.”  
“And so are ye, for good reasons. Tell Venus I’ll be there, okay? Now, can ye two help me have a look at these fucking prospects?”  
  
The phone isn’t silent, but none of the calls is the one he waits for. With Tig and T.O. present it’s easier to work though and Chibs is pulled out of his distraction and on to business. Evaluating prospects is always easier with more eyes, especially now. Dinner tonight will be good too, getting him back to where he belongs. The last thing Chibs wants is for his personal issues to affect the club and they’ve all worked their asses off to rebuild Samcro’s reputation, both in Charming and with their illegal business partners.  
  
Alvarez and the Mayans have been more than pleased with running the gun business, but it’s still a delicate matter and must be handled with care. With the Triads gone, things have run more smoothly and Chibs knows that was it not for Alvarez, Juice would’ve been long gone now too and Lin, and along with him the Triads, still fighting for space and only dragging out the infected, meaningless war. Another important thing: when Juice didn’t kill Tully to get protection from the Triads, something most rats would’ve accepted, especially one being used as a nazi’s punk and with very little chances of earning a way back to the club, he both helped viping out the Triads and made sure the relations between Samcro and the Aryans didn’t become stained.   
  
Tully had been very clear about what he thought of Jax’s suicide. Chibs had, of course, been the one to call Samcro’s various business contacts and almost choked when the drawly voice of the shot caller declared that he intended to keep Juice alive. There’d been a tone of despise Chibs first thought was for Juice, but when the quite frosty call was over, he realised the scorn was about a fucking biker thinking he did something heroic by running his stupid bike into a truck instead of cleaning up the mess he’d created. There was no way he’d carry out the green light again for Jax, or Chibs or Samcro. He would keep Juice in check, make sure the punk knew his place, but that would be it and Chibs must admit the freak seems to have made a good job, judging by the utter silence from someone who’d previously crumbled like dried clay.  
  
Three fucking days. Three years… The phone sounds again.


	97. Chapter 97

_“Li’l darlin’…”_  
  
Juice turns in bed, thrashing actually and the dream doesn’t help. It’s not a nightmare, he’s just hearing Chibs’ voice, the soft one he’s only heard when no one else is around. He’s on the edge of wake, has been floating in and out of sleep for a long time and waking up means more pain, more loneliness. _Ye coward!_  
  
_“Juicyboy… mo ghaiol…*”_  
  
Softness. Warmth. _He’s been freezing for so long._ The callous hand is light on his cheek, but it belongs to the distinct voice. _Mo ghaiol… ye coward!_ _If I were you, I’d get that gun, put it in my mouth, and pull the trigger._ The contrast… the cold… Juice whimpers, wants to explain, to beg for forgiveness again and again, even though it’s pointless and then, the world explodes again.  
__  
“Nurse!”  
  
Blood and bile, ears ringing and he can’t move his hands. He’s stuck as his chest rips open, his ribs cracking with every move and unfamiliar hands are touching him once again.  
  
_“Juicyboy! Wake up, lad!”_  
“Can you hold him, sir?”  
“Aye, c’mere, Juice…”  
“Lisa, what’s he doing in here? No visi…”  
“The doc let me in, nurse. Oi, Juicy, wake… up. Wake up!”  
  
The first breath feels like being stabbed. Like the air itself is punctioning his lungs and with the second breath it hurts like nothing else. His ribcage is breaking with every move, cracks again and again. His punishment, it’s not done yet. The price not paid in full and the Reaper is cashing in his checks. A rat isn’t worthy of a quick death. __  
  
The steel basin is cold against him and when he throws up a second time, seeing the traces of blood in the pukes, Juice is finally awake.  
  
He’s cuffed to the bed, the room is spinning around him and everything fucking hurts, skin feels like it has needels everywhere and not just in the bend of his arm. His body officially hates him, it’s so cold and he has to shut his eyes again, the light too sharp and the sounds too muffled.  
  
“Try and breathe slowly, Juan.”  
“Look a’me, kiddo.”  
  
He tries, but hisses at the sting. It’s light. _Too light…_  
  
“Again, lad? Too wha’?”  
“Light…”  
  
The second time he tries to look, it’s darker. Still light, but not as sharp and Juice squints, head bent down and he can see the hand, large and callous with rings and bracelets.  
  
“Where am I…?”  
  
He sounds hoarse and small, whispering more than talking and the decorated hand is now taking his own, squeezing it gently.  
  
“Ye’re at the hospital. Caught yerself a pneumonia in that forest, ye muppet.”  
“Chibs…?”  
“Aye, t’is me. Doesn’t seem like we’ll get rid of each other, Juicyboy…”  
  
Juice starts crying. He’s not even aware of at first, just hearing those calm, reassuring words, almost like before the hanging tree, before the beat-up, before the treason, before…  
  
“I’m so s-sorry, Chibs… So sorry for every…thing…”  
  
It’s like puking again, only with words. Juice barely knows what he’s saying, only rambling on because he fucked up so completely, betrayed so many, ruined so much and he should be dead, should’ve paid for it in full and he didn’t. Failed that too.  
  
He’s mumbling, sobbing his pathetic confession, his begging for a forgiveness he doesn’t deserve and shouldn’t ask for. Chibs entangles his hand from Juice’s grip and puts it on the back of his sore head, pulling him very gently to his chest. The brown hoodie smells from engine grease, tobacco and fried food.  
  
“Hey, stop rambling, kiddo… They’ll throw me out if they think I’m shakin’ ye. Need to rest… Nurse, s’it alright if I stay?”  
“Juan?”  
  
The female voice again and Juice looks up from Chibs’ frame, breathing is a little easier now and he’s not sure if he should reckognize the young woman in front of him, but with Chibs close it’s not as scary. She’s got dark hair, long like Tara and Juice’s chest feels squashed again, breaths crumbling before reaching the lungs.  
  
“I’m sorry… Didn’t mean to… Jax would’ve… _Oh, God…_ ”  
  
There’s nothing to ease the memories now, the guilt and shame are as vivid as could be, sharp and completely merciless. All there is, is unforgiving darkness, eyes looking at him in long rows, living and dead, accusing, cold and unalterable.  
  
But there’s something more. As the shame burns through him, the extent of his cowardness and betrayal showing itself in all it’s horrific clarity, Chibs still holds him. Juice isn’t pushed away, he’s pulled in and he doesn’t deserve it.  
  
“I… I betrayed you.”  
“Aye, I know. And we betrayed ye too, Juicy… I forgave ye, can ye forgive me? Should’ve listened, should’ve… thought further than my own anger, my disappointment… Ye shouldn’t have run away like tha’, laddie…”  
“Smiley…”  
“What?”  
“T’was a smiley face… on the wall… Green…”  
  
Another fit of coughing cuts him off and once again there’s only pain rattling through his body. Chibs doesn’t speak, just keeps rubbing his shoulders carefully. Juice can feel small, beardy kisses on his hair, his neck, beneath his earlobe.  
  
“Aint leavin’ ye in this mess alone, kiddo. Not sure how much I can do, but… Ye’re not walkin’ outta here to nothing, Juice. Promise ye that… Now, ye need to rest, _mo chridhe**…_ Will ye let this nice nurse help ye without makin’ it harder for her? Gotta let her do her job, Juicyboy.”  
  
Juice tries to nod and Chibs pulls away slowly, creating some distance but keeping a hand on Juice’s shoulder and helps him bending slightly forward. The stethoscope is cold against his shoulders and taking those deep breaths hurts like hell. He coughs again but there’s no bile or blood this time, thank God. His gown is re-adjusted and he’s helped to lie back down again.  
  
The nurse checks the needle in his arm, then putting some rubbery looking thing on his finger, with a tube going somewhere. She looks at something, probably a screen of some sort and smiles at Juice.  
  
“Your oxygen uptake is still a little low, Juan, so I’m gonna put the cannula back, giving you some more oxygen, okay? It will make it easier to breathe, be easier on your lungs and ribs.”  
  
Juice nods and there’s a little squeeze around his hand from Chibs again. The nurse puts the cannula around his neck, it must’ve come off during the fit and then checks the IV again.  
  
“Ye’re givin’ him some more oxy or sedatives?”  
“Yes.”  
  
She turns to Juice.  
  
“Should feel a little better soon, Juan.”  
  
Juice tries to smile, he’s too tired to speak and then Chibs helps holding his head when the nurse changes the dirty pillowcase and wipes off his face.  
  
“Now I’m just gonna check your temperature, Juan.”  
  
Juice looks at Chibs but the Scot just nods and Juice relaxes a little, only shivering when the measurement item is put in his damn sensitive ear. The nurse strokes his hair.  
  
“You have an ear infection, that’s why it hurts a little. There, all done.”  
  
A little beep and the thing is removed.  
  
“101.7. It’s still high, but not increasing. Are you freezing?”  
  
He nods. The nurse looks at the clock on the wall.  
  
“I’ll have another check for that thermal blanket, it must’ve gone astray… Are you staying here a while longer, Mr. Telford?”  
“Aye, was plannin’ on it.”  
“Good. I’ll be back soon. No liquids, it’ll increase the nausea, but you can help him moisten his mouth with the swabs here.”  
“Aye.”  
  
Too many and too loud voices and Juice sighs when the nurse leaves. The pain, nausea and most of all the panic seem to have left too, at least most of it. The needle in his arm, attached to the magic fluid in the plastic bag, relieving his body from the inner battlefield again and Juice sighs again, this time out of relief. There’s no more anxiety, he’s floating again, even if he’s still freezing and somehow knows he should be ashamed, but can’t seem to feel it or even recall why.  
  
“Ye never went out camping as a kid, right?”  
  
Juice just smiles and makes a slow headshake. Of course he didn’t and neither did Chibs. The Scot has his old teasing glimpse back in his eyes and then he cracks a smile, the genuine, almost cheeky one Juice hasn’t seen in years.  
  
“Neither did I, lad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *my beloved  
> **my heart


	98. Chapter 98

“And I don’t know how that sweet darling Luann put up with these scums, but I’ll tell you that, Mr. T.O., she was keeping things in order in a way not even Nero could!”  
  
Venus points at the man with her spatula, emphasising her words and T.O. tilts his head.  
  
“Well, can’t say I knew the man but he seemed to know what he was doing. Guess that means Luann really was something special.”  
  
T.O. is polite and a little look from Chibs has Tig stopping whatever sarcastic truth ready on his tongue. Instead, the man nods and raises his bottle.  
  
“To Luann and Otto.”  
  
They all drink to Samcro’s probably most unfortunate brother and his old lady. T.O. may not have known either of them but that doesn’t matter. They’re still a part of Samcro and their memories are passed along to members who never knew them. There’s no need to mention that Bobby humped Luanne while Otto was suffering inside or that Otto ratted on the club as a revenge for not protecting her. That he regretted it afterwards and tried to make things right, sacrificing more than any of them them, unable to get anything himself from it, but respect and a fucking agonizing last time inside before using Toric to get out of his misery.  
  
Venus’ dinner cooking on the stove smells delicious, but Chibs can taste death in his mouth. He’s used to it and never been squeamish about it. It’s just been so many and though regret is useless and Chibs rarely lets himself dwell in grief, he’s never had Clay’s, Jax’s or Tig’s easiness with the matter of death. He’s a medic, trained to save lives and unnecessairy casualties means you’ve not thought things through but acted on feelings and Chibs hates that. He understands it, by God he does, but he still hates it.  
  
“How’s he doing, Chibs?”  
  
Tig’s voice is low as he scratches the pitbull Mina on her head and Chibs realises he’s been caught in his own thoughts again. Venus is talking to T.O., making him laugh with her picant stories and Chibs takes another sip of his beer.  
  
“Not good. Alive an’ in good hands, I guess, but…”  
  
He gives a little shrug, meant to appear easy but it doesn’t work. Tig pats his shoulder, lowering his voice a little more, making sure it’s drowned by the cooking and talking by the stove.  
  
“Lets get out for a sec.”  
  
He smiles at Venus and opens the door to the balcony, followed by Chibs who shuts it behind them. Tig lights another fag and nods at him.  
  
“Spit it out.”  
“There was a smilin’ face on’is wall. Green.”  
“Smiling…? Oh…”  
  
Tig gives a low whistle and rubs his face with his free hand.  
  
“Fuck…”  
“Aye, ye could say tha’…”  
  
Chibs stares on his bottle, he’s not sure what to say because it all seems like the wrong thing.   
  
“Chibs…”  
“Aye?”  
“I’ve not forgiven Juice and I don’t count on doing it. But I know you, brother. Something made you forgive him and I… I remember when he left. You couldn’t even look at him. Never seen that happen before. Not with Clay, not with Jax…”  
“Ye’re questioning my loyalty, Tig?”  
“No, you are.”  
  
Tig looks almost tortured.  
  
“You think Juice would’ve ratted if you’d told him? I don’t know him like you do, never did, but the only thing except simple stupidity that could’ve made him turn on us, on _you_ , is if someone threatened to take it all from him anyway. Clay was greedy, for power and money. Jax… too fucking caught up in his own plans, just like John, to really understand what was going on around him. Tried to have the pussy and eat it…”  
  
Chibs snorts at the stupid metaphor and Tig sighs.  
  
“Venus has her connections inside too, as you know. If Juice wanted, he could’ve turned us all in a long time ago. Could’ve gotten his revenge at any time and Samcro would’ve been buried and gone. This… scheming between Clay and Gemma… They betrayed this club the moment they decided to put John down and Jax… He was an idealist but blind to his family. At least long enough to make their shit ours even more.”  
“And what about Tara’s murder?”  
“I know, _knew_ Gemma better than you, brother. To her, family always comes first, _blood_ comes first and that’s why I know she could easily have destroyed this club with no regrets, if that meant saving Jax, her grandkids or herself. Juice has been used as a tool by all of them, Chibs.”  
“He could’ve come to me.”  
“He did and you told him to eat his gun. Aint saying it wasn’t the right thing, I’d probably just strangled him on spot, but it doesn’t mean it _was_ the right thing either. Juice fucked up big time, but he’s not Clay, Jax or Gemma. He’s an idiot and was a coward, but…”  
“Ye say him being miserable for three years suddenly makes it all right again?”  
“No. I say he was easily manipulated and too stupid to understand he could’ve talked to you in the first place. I loved Jax but he was more Morrow than Teller and for all his talk about family and club, he was no different than Clay and could never draw a line between his private shit and the club. They treated it like they alone _were_ the club, Chibs, and Juice did shit I’m not really ready to forgive but it’s not as if the rest of us are fucking saints just because you are.”  
  
A knock on the window from Venus tells them it’s dinner time and the slightly raised eyebrows say she know they’re talking serious shit that doesn’t belong on family dinners and that she expects them to leave it on the balcony. Tig quickly puts his fag out and when Chibs doesn’t, the VP takes it himself.  
  
“Hey, I wasn’t done.”  
“No smoking by the dinner table.”  
“We all smoke!”  
“Not when Venus made dinner. It’s disrespectful.”  
  
Chibs smirks.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of disrespecting yer old lady, Tig.”  
“Good, ‘cause I’m not ready for another funeral, pres. Especially not yours.”


	99. Chapter 99

“How are you feeling, Juan?”  
“Sore.”  
  
He looks up. No Chibs, just the priest and Juice sinks back on the pillow, feeling like he just got ten times heavier. Chibs left, after all. Not that it’s surprising, maybe Juice just dreamt he was here earlier.   
  
“He left you this.”  
  
The priest picks up something from the small bedtable and hands him. Juice looks at his palm. It’s a rosary. More exactly: Chibs’ green one from Ireland, the one he always carries with him. Juice swallows, the invisible weight getting less heavy, not vanishing but not longer crushing. Chibs wouldn’t let anyone touch his rosary and got extremely upset if he suddenly couldn’t find it. Him taking it off or, God forbid, leave it anywhere, is just not happening and Juice touches the beads lightly.  
  
“He… lost it here?”  
“No, son, he left it for you.”  
“Chibs never… takes it off.”  
“Well…”  
  
The priest smiles.  
  
“He did promise things will get… very unpleasant if someone removes it or looses it. Think it’s really not the staff’s responsibility to take care of things visitors freely leave behind but…”  
“It’s Irish. Means a lot to him…”  
“Then you certainly means a lot more.”  
“I betrayed him, father.”  
“Is he Christian? I mean, an active one.”  
“Yeah. Well, not attending church or anything, but…”  
“I’ve talked to officer Jarry a little. About you, about the club… No actual secrets, but things you don’t hear on the street or from your congregation. Your friend, Mr. Telford, he was a part of IRA once.”  
  
Juice doesn’t answer and the priest smiles again.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’m not fishing for information.”  
  
He nods at the rosary.  
  
“But an IRA member, ex-communicated or not, leaving someone that… He’s coming back, son. Think that’s about as much of a given as it could be, save for chaining himself to your bed.”  
  
It’s getting too close. Juice doesn’t want the priest or anyone else to talk about Chibs or the rosary or True IRA. He closes his hand around the smooth pearls, hiding it from both the priest and himself. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve any of the sweetness he’s had from Chibs because as always, Juice just manages to turn it to shit. He tugs a little at the cuff, did he dream if was gone too? Probably.  
  
“I’m going back, right?”  
“Back to?”  
“Stockton.”  
“Yeah, I mean you live here.”  
“Meant prison, idiot.”  
  
He probably shouldn’t speak like that to the priest but the man doesn’t even scowl, he snickers.  
  
“Have been called a lot worse for a lot less, Juan. Can’t have too thin skin in my profession. Of course you’re not going back to prison, son. We’ve talked to your landlady. Me, officer Jarry and your friend, Mr. Telford. She wont let you stay there anymore, because she’s afraid it’ll scare off her other guests, but you’re not suspected of any crime.”  
“Ran off…”  
“Yes, but who wouldn’t in that situation? I don’t know a lot of details about you or the Sons, but I know how gangs work and I’ve visited more than one ex gang member in protected custody.”  
  
The priest’s smile becomes milder, almost sad and he takes Juice’s hand.  
  
“I wish you’d told me, Juan. Not meaning I expected you to, since I’m a stranger and you had no reason to. I understand your silence, why you didn’t come to me or the police or Mr. Telford, but I hope you’ll see me as an ally and not someone you have to hide from. The church has rooms.”  
  
Juice swallows.  
  
“You’re really nice and all, _padre_ , but you don’t have to do this. I’m just… Have too much shit I’ve done and I’m not even… If you’re here because you want to do some kind of charity duty and make me see the light or something, you’re in the wrong room. And your housekeeper hates my guts.”  
“Mrs. Ellis hates changes and her aging knees. And I hate being preached to when I’m not interested. I’m not here to force or sneak my beliefs onto you, Juan. I only want to help.”  
“I don’t pray and I suck cock.”  
  
The priest laughs.  
  
“That reminds me of my time in seminary. I’m a liberal man but one or two of my collegues spent far too much time on their knees in front of other things than the Tabernacle. I’m human, Juan, and I’ve been in relationships, even intended to get married once. I’m not a saint, I’ve not lived a cloistered life and I’m perfectly aware of how my collar has earned it’s less than sanctified reputaion. It’s not my business who’s cock you suck, as long as it’s not mine and as far as the praying goes, you certainly don’t have to, but I hope you don’t mind if I mention you in mine?”  
  
Juice is dumbstruck and he just nods, feeling a smile curving his lips.   
  
“Not sure how you could help but… I appreciate it. T’is nice of you to, you know… be here. Thanks, _padre_.”  
“You’re welcome. He’ll be back tomorrow morning. Your friend.”  
“You talked to him?”  
“He wouldn’t leave your side until I promised to stay the night.”  
“He threatened you?!”  
  
That’s just… not Chibs at all, not like this but the priest just laughs again.  
  
“Only a little and I forgave him immediately. Well, _technically_ after he’d promised a generous donation to our soup kitchen, but it was his idea and I didn’t make any demands. I only… expressed my gratitude. After all, the Lord loves a giving heart.”


	100. Chapter 100

Juice is asleep and looks marginally better. Or maybe Chibs just sees what he wants. He’s still pale as fuck, has dark rings under his eyes and the tubes make the thin body look more fragile than it actually is. Nurses aren’t what you could call well-paid and Chibs knows how to bribe them into breaking the professional silence. Apart from the obvious – pneumonia and hypothermia – Juice also has a quite severe malnutrition, otitis, urinary tract infection and most likely PTSD. They’ve not made a full examination for the last one, but according the nurse, it’s heavily suspected.  
  
Chibs lifts the hypothermia blanket to take Juice’s hand. It’s warm and lax, the scraped knuckles not white from tension anymore.   
  
“He’s stronger than he looks.”  
  
The priest talks very low, clearly not wanting to disturb Juice and Chibs just makes an ironic, joyless smile.  
  
“Wha’ do ye know ‘bout tha’, father? Ye know something after a couple of weeks I didn’t discover in years?”  
“I’ve read his files.”  
  
Chibs snorts.  
  
“Well, good ol’ Charming… Never bribed many priests, wasn’t Clay’s or Jax’s thing but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”  
“No, you went straight to threats. A bit rude, but straight forward, if I might say.”  
“Saves time.”  
  
He smiles and Chibs can’t help but doing it too. Then the man turns serious again.  
  
“He’s not had it easy, since leaving the club.”  
“Don’t think I know tha’? He betrayed the club, turned on his brothers and tried to end himself like a goddamn coward. ‘E shouldn’t even be alive.”  
  
The priest nods and Chibs notices the man isn’t wearing a collar, but a simple denim shirt and there’s a leather jacket hanging on the chair. His whole appearance talks of someone who didn’t go straight from altar boy service to the seminar and definitely didn’t see the light all of a sudden.  
  
“There’s a lot of people who shouldn’t be alive, Mr. Telford. And a lot of people who should, but aren’t.”  
“I don’t need a sermon, father.”  
  
The priest smiles. It’s friendly, ironic and Chibs realises this is a person who doesn’t care about threats from an MC club, even one with the story of the Sons.   
  
“You care about him.”  
“Ye’re fucking nosy, father. Aynone ever told ye tha’?”  
“I’m simply observant, Mr. Telford. And I know enough about IRA and the Irish to know you wouldn’t leave that rosary here unless Juan mattered.”  
“I’m not Irish.”  
“I know. Glasgow, right?”  
“What a wild guess, father. Must’ve been _really_ hard to figure that one out.”  
“Do you love him?”  
“Fuck ye.”  
  
Juice moves in his sleep and Chibs immediately turns his attention back to him, squeezing his hand a little, stroking his hair. The man whimpers quietly and Chibs leans down to kiss his forehead. There’s no need for words to answer the question, his own automatic reaction speaks loud enough.  
  
“Mr. Telford?”  
“What, father?”   
“I’m what you in an old-fashioned way could call a _wordly_ priest. I wont just sit and thumb on my rosary, taking gang members word on not going after him. It’s nothing personal, but I grew up in one of the shittiest suburbs of Birmingham and spent two years in a parish in Derry.”  
  
Chibs can’t say he’s that surprised. It makes sense, suits this man’s appearance. The only thing that sticks out apart from the collar is the care, the honest kindness for a human wreck who doesn’t even belong to the parish. There’s no charity score to pick from sitting by an ex-con’s side instead of making home visits to lonely old widows or arrange jumble sales to collect money for starving kids. On the other hand, maybe the priest knows something about the kind of loneliness Juice has been through. At least enough to know when caring for the lost wrecks is more important than public face.   
  
“I’m not naïve, Mr. Telford, but I’m not easily scared either. I suggest you keep your herd in check, and let me do the same. He’s been through enough.”  
  
The priest sounds soft when he talks about Juice and Chibs isn’t sure if he likes it. It’s not in his nature to trust people outside the club, the family and longterm business partners and there’s a stupid stroke of jealousy coming to life. With the priest in the room, Chibs can’t talk to Juice, can’t whisper all the things he may or may not hear in his sleep but that man probably is more of what the kid needs now than Chibs. Someone neutral, without an infected history.   
  
He’s right, Chibs thinks as he leans down to kiss Juice’s hair and adjust the blanket. Juice doesn’t need – or deserve – more shit. Problem is, Chibs has no idea how to help him without pissing off either the club or the society.


	101. Chapter 101

Sometimes when he wakes up, Chibs is there. Other times, the priest, nurses or even the cops. Juice is too sedated to get scared from the uniforms and as the days passes by and the pneumonia is getting better, the numb feeling starts to come back. Juice rarely speaks and simply obeys the staff, letting them do what they want to him without arguing. After all, it’s their job.  
  
He’s surprised to find out he actually has an insurance and even more so when he realises it’s not his old one, but Tully’s. His dead cellmate, rapist and in some ways absurdly twisted comforter apparantly put Juice on his own and it’s not expiring for another year. Juice isn’t sure how he feels about it, if he feels anything at all. Things are so fucked up as they are, so why not add some more to the mess. He may be bike- and homeless – probably redundant as well – but at least he wont be in debt for medical bills. Maybe his lawyer spoke to him about it, Juice has a very vague memory of it, but as with so many things belonging to life as in _living_ and not just walk around breathing, he’s put it in the box of things he’s not supposed to touch. A dead man unknowlingly walking around with a health insurance… If God exists, He sure as hell has a twisted sense of humour.  
  
Chibs’ rosary is still attached to the bed and everytime Juice wakes up, being in the morning or any other time, peacefully or from nightmares, the green beads are hanging there. Although in pain and extremely tired, Juice doesn’t miss the small changes around his sterile hospital bed. Flowers, first of all, because it’s weird and they’re not from padre Mark and definitely not from Chibs. The Scot’s interest in growing things doesn’t go any further than tobacco, weed and fried tomatos. Juice has never seen him buy flowers for anyone and when he finally asks, it turns out they’re from… Venus.  
  
It’s beyond weird. Juice wasn’t even remotely close to the transgender prostitute when things were still good and the idea that she’d remember him, not to mention think of him now is crazy. Sending him flowers is simply _fubar_ and Chibs just shrugs because he doesn’t have any answers, at least not one he seems wanting to share with Juice.  
  
What’s more upsetting is the flyer with Dyna. The priest has had a bunch of them made and kids in his congregation have put them up all over Stockton. Juice can’t recall taking many pics but he’s not really annoyed that his phone’s been searched. It’s not as if he has any secrets there. What’s upsetting is to be reminded of the kitten who’s probably dead already. The fact that he really can’t look at the picture or talk about her, like he’s some kind of crazy cat lady missing her fur baby, is worrying.  
  
Could be the weariness and the meds that are making him overly sensitive, an explanation Juice can accept because even the most hard-ass dudes can turn into miserable puddles rambling about anything from wives leaving and kids never seeing them, to a dead childhood pet or some stupid old teddybear with the right – or wrong – coctail of chemical shit. Dyna was better than any medicine and hearing that kids who don’t know him at all, spent Sunday school or whatever it’s called, to walk around Stockton and put up flyers as a practical lesson about the Good Samaritan, makes him cry. Not until he’s alone, but still.  
  
Kindness without paying for it never existed in Juice’s life. Samcro was his family, sure, but a gang isn’t about unconditional love, it’s about mutual trust and the love grows in time. Or dies a violent death. Meds or not, when he’s alone he cries. It’s like turning on a fucking tap but Juice doesn’t care. It’s not as if he has any pride left to protect and as long as he’s alone doing it, the only one witnessing his pathetic tears is himself. Had he asked someone – nurses, the doc, the priest – he’d found out it’s a natural reaction to extreme emotional and physical stress and far better than bottling it up, but he doesn’t ask and only feels weak.  
  
One night he wakes up from another nightmare. Usually they don’t get so bad now, probably due to the meds, but still bad enough to turn him into a sweat drenched pile of shaky limbs and hitched breaths. This one is right out horrifying, a hellish mixture of prison, the Sons, Tully and even Juice’s own family. So many faces, angry, disappointed and scornful ones, staring down at the rat and the punk. The son who got himself lost and thrown out of not one but two families and the last thing he sees before his own screams throw him out of the nightmare, is Chibs turning his back on him, the only one not able to face him as he rides towards Stockton.  
  
He’s sitting up, in one sudden move like pulling out a switchblade, his back straight and immovable as a pinetree. The scream is hollow, barely human and at first Juice doesn’t even realise it’s coming from him. A animalistic wail piercing his sore lungs and eardrums and then there’s light too bright for his eyes and they shut while his ears are ringing and hands he can’t shove off are all over him. Someone tries to lift his head, unintentionally causing a sting of pain in his neck and Juice throws up.  
  
It’s only bile and water, his empty belly cramping and the images from his dream get mixed up with the sharp light and shadows, the contours of the hospital room. There are hands on his head again and Juice whimpers, trying to get rid of them when a rough voice cuts through.  
  
“Juicyboy! Nurse, let me… Oi, look at me, lad! Hey!”  
  
He can’t look, the light wont allow him, but he feels. Smells. Engine grease, tobacco. Cheap coffee.  
  
“Ye hear me, Juice?”  
  
He nods. Can’t talk, can’t look, but he reckognizes the voice and the scent. The hands. He grasps for the man, for any piece of him to hold onto, clutching the soft fabric of an old hoodie and his stomach keeps trying to get rid of things that aren’t there, turning muscles into knots and then he feels chills on his back as someone removes the gown and he’s naked apart from the blanket covering his hips.  
  
“C’mere, lovey… Lemme help ye…”  
  
The voice is soothing. Doesn’t ease the pain or tension but stops it from getting worse. Juice is shaking in the once again familiar arms, the palms brushing over his back. It’s not until he feels the scraping of beard against his neck, that he connects the scent and voice with the arms. _Chibs._  
  
When the nightmare finally starts giving away for reality, Juice is so frayed he barely notices the sting in his buttock, or even being moved to the side. He only holds onto the one thing making any sense to him at the moment, and that’s Chibs, speaking calm words in the gruff accent that will always remind Juice of something solid and intractable. A steadfast fucking bole who’d never abandon it’s roots and doesn’t move for storms – or nightmares – of any kind. 


	102. Chapter 102

That scream will never leave him. Chibs lights a fag with shaky hands on the parking lot. He shouldn’t leave, but he really needs a smoke now and isn’t allowed to help cleaning Juice up. In a way it’s probably good, Juice shouldn’t be more exposed than he already is and once he feels better, he’ll be grateful that Chibs didn’t pull the sweat and piss drenched clothes off him.  
  
He knew it was bad, just not _how_ bad. The night is chilly and Chibs savors the fresh air as the sound of Juice’s nightmare rings in his ears. He searches through his memory, from his childhood to the army, IRA and the Sons. Gunfires, explosions, bombs and shattered limbs. Crying kids, brothers in arms with PTSD from _Na Trioblóidí_ – The Troubles – in Northern Ireland who couldn’t fight or rest anymore, constantly ridden by pictures of dead loved ones. Friends, wives, sons and daughters. The night when Fiona gave birth to their little lass and Chibs couldn’t get rid of the feeling that not only was he completely useless to his wife, but helpless as well.  
  
When the little screaming, blooded bundle was put in his arms and Fiona gave him an exhausted smile, he knew these screams, the ones from bursting from giving birth and the ones from a little creature being thrown out in the world, completely helpless, would belong to those sounds. The screams unable to stop themselves, primal and out of reach for reason, just as the kind of cries from brothers with fatal wounds or in shock from loosing limbs. Juice’s scream this night is now added to them and Chibs knows he’s one of the roots to the kid’s nightmares. Or at least part of it. He stubs out the fag and hurries back inside, walking through the oddly silent corridors. His time as a medic never involved hospital night shifts.  
  
He can hear the sobs from the closed door before he’s even near the room and he hurries back inside to see a sliver of Juice held down in the shower, sounding more like a dying animal than a human having a panic attack.  
  
It’s enough, just simply fucking enough and Chibs enters the bathroom without even knocking. The nurse and nurse’s assistant have used the cuffs to keep Juice steady on the showering chair and he’s crying, shaking and clearly extremely scared despite the meds, only too affected by them to put up any physical resistance apart from tugging helplessly at the cuffs. Chibs grabs the nurse’s wrist, not hard, just firm enough to make her stop and Chibs stares at her.  
  
“Ye’re scaring him! Unlock the cuffs.”  
“He’s trying to hit us.”  
“Aye, that’s not surprising. Now unlock’em and get the hell outta here.”  
“You can’t just…”  
“Unlock. The _cuffs._ ”  
  
Yes, he’s threatening her. He’s using his cold, intimidating voice and eyeing her down with the gaze that once even made Fiona, the woman fearing nothing and noone, uneasy. This young nurse hasn’t as much as a grain of Fi in her and unlocks the cuffs without a word. Chibs nods at the door.  
  
“Get out.”  
“But…”  
“I served as a medic in the military and IRA while ye were still in nappies, lass. Ye ever worked with PTSD patients before?”  
  
She looks completely taken aback and just shakes her head. Chibs scowls.  
  
“Didn’t think so. Get out an’ let me handle this. Pretty sure ye have other patients too.”  
  
The nurse’s assitant seems eager to leave and the nurse looks doubtful. Chibs is holding Juice’s hands, who’re still now and the sobs no longer screams but broken sounds of pitiful exhaustion. Chibs looks at the nurse, letting her see this is helping Juice far more than cuffs and unknown touches. Finally she nods.  
  
“Jenny will stay with you, Mr. Telford. I will have to report this.”  
“Aye. Don’ forget to mention cuffin’im in the shower. Sure that’ll be popular.”  
  
The way she presses her lips confirms what Chibs already knew. They didn’t have any clearance for cuffing Juice in the shower. The bed is one thing, but to cuff a panicking patient who barely knows where he is, in order to shower him is a violation they apparantly didn’t think twice about when handling an ex-con on parole.  
  
Without another word, the idiot leaves the bathroom and Chibs drapes the towels around the broken form on the chair. Juice lets him touch, which means he’s not too trapped in fear and confusion to be completely off reality. The injection earlier should’ve made him far more relaxed than this, is it amateurs night shift or what? Chibs hates sloppy work, that’s why he’s always saved irresponsible shit for _after_ a fucking job. In his experience, the opposite only leads to more work, worse mood and the need for more booze. Like in feeding guard dogs crank.  
  
The memory almost makes him smile, because holy shite the lad wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box that time but at least he was creative. Chibs dries him off quickly but gentle and ties a clean gown around him, careful not to accidently tug at the catheter or IV. At least the idiots covered them properly to keep them dry. The one waiting outside also changed the bedsheets and Chibs almost feels a little less hostile, at least enough to stop pitcturing her tied to a shower chair in the Son’s garage with Tig and Happy performing their art on her.  
  
Juice whimpers as Chibs helps him to lie down again. A small sound, not as wretched as earlier but it still goes straight to Chibs’ old, Scottish and apparantly softening heart and he glares at the girl who’ll only make it worse if she comes too close. At least she’s smart enough to move away and give them space.  
  
Juice looks so tired and strangely old despite some of his almost childlike features. On the other hand, Chibs has no friends among strictly law abiding people and rarely meets that kind of people long enough to know what the average Joe consider childlike. His upbringing in Glasgow doesn’t compare to normal people’s and he handled heavy weapons while most kids in his age were still trading movie cards, chewing gums and fags.  
  
He makes sure there are no wrinkles on the bed sheet and adjusts the pillow carefully under Juice’s neck before turning him to the side, close to the edge and tucking him in. Then he takes his own boots off and lies down on the narrow bed, without even looking at the assistant nurse and Juice mumbles.  
  
“Chibs…?”  
“Aye…”  
  
Juice only sighs and curls into a ball as much as he’s able to in his condition and Chibs realises the lad just needed to know he’s there because the next thing he hears, when he's spooning the exhausted body, is the soft sound of calm sleep.


	103. Chapter 103

“Finally…”  
  
The Scot talks soft and low, something close to a smile tugging his lips.  
  
“Thought ye’d slipped into chomas, lad.”  
  
Juice blinks a few times. The room is bright, it must be morning.   
  
“What time is it?”  
“Two in the afternoon.”  
“Shit…”  
“Aye. Ye were a bit tired, so to speak.”  
  
He’s laying on Chibs’ arm, his chest where there’s no cut, just the hoodie and Chibs has his other arm around his shoulder.  
  
“How are ye feelin’?”  
“Don’t know yet. Guess I’m fine unless I try and feel.”  
  
Chibs chuckles and presses a kiss on his hair.  
  
“Aye, that’s usually the case.”  
“Can’t allow our hearts to be louder than reason…”  
  
He’s surprising the man and Juice smiles a little but Chibs’ scarred face looks hurt. Juice lifts his hand, it’s heavy and clumsy, laying it on the cheek, tracing one of the permanent lines that should make the Scot look nasty and repulsive, but doesn’t. Juice has always liked those scars, not that he’d ever let anyone know, but he can’t imagine Chibs without them. Neither does he mind the grizzled beard or hair, that are even turning a little white in some spots.  
  
“You ever thought… I mean, before I screwed up… When we were still good and all, that I was…?”  
  
It’s not shame that makes it hard to pull sentences together, but weariness  and Juice takes a careful breath, not to provoke a cough.  
  
“Too young. That I was too young to…”  
“Aye.”  
  
Chibs sounds neutral, matter of fact-like. Juice closes his eyes.  
  
“Was almost thirty, you know. When I got patched in.”  
“Closer to twentyfive when ye came.”  
“Still older than some of the crow eaters.”  
  
Chibs snorts now, but doesn’t bite back and Juice knows he got the message.   
  
“Loved you, Chibs. Man, it was… Never liked guys, just you. It’s fucked up…”  
“Aye, it is.”  
  
The man gives his scowl and the ironic curve on the lips, protecting his thoughts from slipping out.  
  
“T’is bloody fucked up, Juicyboy, an’ ye shouldn’ be thinkin’ of it now. Ye’ll only makin’ tha’ stupid head of yers more confused.”  
  
He bends down to kiss his hair again, Juice can feel the gesture that once was ordinary because Chibs was always physical with his affections and it felt wrong to feel special for it, but Juice still did. The familiar hand cards through his hair, scratches his scalp a little and then there’s the nuzzle no one but Chibs has ever done with him.   
  
Juice strokes the man’s neck, curling hair around his fingers, rubbing roots that have gone from dark grey to milky white. Chibs turns fifty soon, if Juice remembers correctly and as with so many club members, it’s hard to actually see how old he is. Some parts of this life make you old faster, other things tend to keep you young, or at least feeling so. It’s not the ordinary way of aging except when it comes to actual numbers. Lots of things with Chibs paint a picture of a rough life leaving you with a body screaming for rest because the limbs and muscles have been running on high speed for too long. The weight of all the violence, suspicion and dangerous business marks you more than any Glasgow smile and still, still this old bastard has the cheeky grin and look of a young boy, up to no good. Juice hasn’t felt young in a very long time.  
  
Chibs plants another shallow kiss on his hair and Juice sighs.  
  
“Hey…”  
  
His face is gently bent upwards and Chibs wipes something off Juice’s cheeks with his thumb.  
  
“Ye’re bawling worse than a drunken Irishman on ‘is mother’s wake, Jesus Christ…”  
  
Juice lets out a small laughter.   
  
“Trust me, I’d like it to stop…”  
  
He’s not actually feeling sad, or bad in general right now. Just tired inside out and crying seems to be a physical reaction more than anything. Chibs still holds his chin, still looks at him, leaning their foreheads together, their noses touching and Juice is tired of this game, of how they circle around each other.   
  
“Chibs…”  
“Aye?”  
“Make up your mind, man… Aint gonna bite you and I’m not gonna break…”  
“Arsehole.”  
“Dick.”  
“Brat.”  
“Oldie.”  
  
Juice can barely stop from laughing and before Chibs can answer, Juice takes hold of his neck and pulls him close, cutting off any words ready to continue the mock teasing. It’s not as soft as it could be, but not desperate either and Juice doesn’t close his eyes, neither does Chibs and they’re fixing each others gazes for a moment until they get lost and there’s only skin and tongues, teeth and warm wetness.   
  
They both probably taste like hell but it doesn’t seem to matter. Chibs is devouring him, keeping the hunger in check with a rigid gentleness, muscles tense to not put any pressure on Juice. He’s still cradling his neck, the rough fingers pinching the hairline and Juice melts into it, they both do until they’re panting and Juice’s lungs are protesting. Chibs just wanders, leaving a trail of small, nibbling kisses from the corner of Juice’s mouth, along the jaw-line all the way up to his ear and the only word still left in Juice’s mind is an inward, inaudible _finally._


	104. Chapter 104

This isn’t his thing. Not his responsibility and Juice hasn’t asked him to. For fucks sake, the kid is an adult and doesn’t need a damn babysitter and if he did, Chibs wouldn’t volunteer. Seeing him in semi secret is one thing, but this is just too official. Doesn’t make it any better that Juice is asleep and doesn’t know about this.  
  
“What do you say, Filip?”  
  
Althea looks neutral, only a small furrow showing her care and Chibs glances around the table. The cop, the priest and the outlaw biker. Looks like a bad comedy but Chibs definitely isn’t keen on laughing right now.  
  
“Doesn’t feel right, talkin’ ‘bout’im behind his back like this. He’s not a child.”  
  
They’re also kind of violating the right to professional silence on some level, but Chibs is the last person to bring that subject up. Althea folds her arms.  
  
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t need help. Especially if you can’t guarantee the club will leave him alone.”  
“I already told ye: thrashing his place was no club decision.”  
“Which doesn’t make it any less worrying, Filip.”  
“Ye have any proof it was Samcro, Althea?”  
“Whoa, whoa… Take it down a notch or two, please.”  
  
The priest raises a hand and the catholic in Chibs reacts about the same as Althea’s awareness of the responsibilities coming with her badge and they go silent. The priest folds his hands together like he’s about to initiate a prayer, but leans back on his chair instead. The last thing they need is for the hospital staff to come asking why there’s a gathering in the wards chat room and the priest glances towards the door.  
  
“We’re not here to make accusations, or make decisions for Juan. I’ve only been here a few weeks but I understand this isn’t a place where things are clearly on one side of the law. Charming and Stockton seem like more or less the place to me, considering how your club works, Mr. Telford.”  
“I never ordered an attack on Juice, father.”  
“I know and that’s not why we’re here. To point fingers. This meeting isn’t exactly ethical to begin with but we all care about Juan and I’m not gonna argue about your history, especially since I’m not a part of it in any way. The point is that _someone_ attacked him despite no club decision or known enemies outside the club.”  
  
Chibs doesn’t want to like this man, but the calm, neutral and clear way of looking at things without judging or jump to conclusions is a sympathetic trait. He looks at Althea and she doesn’t speak, but as himself waiting for what the clerk has to say. The man with the mustache and pale eyes sighs.  
  
“I’m a priest. It’s not my job to judge people, at least it shouldn’t be.”  
  
The smirk says he’s more than aware of how the priesthood have violated that throughout the history and that he doesn’t expect Chibs or anyone else to view him as some kind of moral compass standing above the rest simply because of the collar.  
  
“I’ve met Juan a couple of times and I know some of his history with the Sons and the prison. I don’t claim to know him and wont hand out forgiveness for crimes or missteps I don’t know of, especially not on someone elses behalf. He’s not only some innocent victim, I know that, but this…”  
  
He shakes his head and the blue eyes look right out sad.  
  
“The club, as far as I understand, spared him for some reason and he survived prison despite a murder attempt and having no friends, family or even social connections. Juan is deeply depressed and extremely alone, almost isolated. Or at least he has been up until very recently. From what the doctor’s been telling me and what I’ve seen and heard while sitting with him, the pneumonia, the parole violation and the future are the least of his problems right now.”  
  
No argue with that, not from Chibs and Althea doesn’t seem to have any objections to that description either. Chibs grits his teeth.  
  
“Aye, now ye’ve described the situation, father, and I’m not gonnae argue ‘bout it. Ye have any suggestions wha’ to do?”  
“I have, Mr. Telford. Juan can stay with me.”  
  
Chibs just stares at him and can’t help but let out a short, joyless laughter.  
  
“Ye’re takin’ in an ex-con on parole with PTSD as yer tenant, father?”  
  
The priest smiles, doesn’t seem to be the least affected by the questioning.   
  
“I am. If he accepts the offer, of course.”  
“An’ ye have people puttin’ up flyers for his cat… Jesus Christ… Ye’re gonnae adopt’im next?”  
“Filip…”  
  
Anthea gives him a glare and Chibs just shakes his head, but goes silent. It’s not often he’s truly felt a priest having the moral high ground, considering most of the clerks he’s had any real association with, have been True IRA members or just cons in white collars. This one doesn’t belong to that lot and it’s beneath Chibs to argue with him like this, especially in front of Althea.  
  
“Would him staying with me be a problem for you or your club, Mr. Telford?”  
  
The blue gaze tells Chibs that it doesn’t matter to this man what he or the club or anyone thinks. This man isn’t in anyones pocket or has any personal connections stopping him from simply doing what he thinks is the right thing to do. And from a Christian point of view, Chibs can’t really say the priest thinks wrong. In fact, this is what a priest should do, showing care and compassion with the wrecks of society, visiting the ill and imprisoned or however that Bible quote went.  
  
Chibs shakes his head.  
  
“T’is not my thing to have any opinion on, father. But the club aint gonnae stop ye or… cause any problems, I can promise ye tha’.”  
  
Unless the clerk tries to use the lad against them or Chibs personally – or try and dictate Juice’s life, but that goes without saying. It’s more than a little hypocritical of Chibs to think like that, but he never claimed to be perfect and not every thought and feeling should be shared. And even if no one witnessed the kiss earlier, Chibs can’t help but worrying that the conflict clawing inside him, has made holes big enough for others to see.  
  
To avoid more headless accusations spilling from his apparantly unreliable tongue, Chibs turns to Althea.  
  
“Ye’re sure ‘bout the parole terms an’all?”  
“Yes. There are medical reasons backing up his recent behavior and he’s not had any complaints from work, the landlady or his probation officer. Clean drug tests too and taking care of a stray cat without permission isn’t exactly a crime.”  
  
Chibs snorts. He’d almost forgotten about that and it feels just so fucking absurd sitting here and talk about how to help a rat and his stray kitten. He needs to be alone, needs some distance to think and at the same time he just can’t seem to leave Juice here and simply let the staff do their job. Most of them are good, gentle and the priest may or may not be trustworthy, but at least Juice isn’t scared of him. At the moment, that’s about the best that could be done.  
  
“Aye. Ye go on an’ help’im, father. But if things don’t go as planned, for whatever reason, I’d appreciate if ye give me a heads up.”  
  
Talking behind Juice’s back, more or less, but the priest nods.   
  
“I will.”  
  
Chibs doubts he’ll get anything from him that the priest doesn’t think is stricly necessairy or has Juice’s permission to tell – if Juice takes the offer – but perhaps that’s good in a way. Chibs can’t be the one keeping Juice on his feet for a lot of reasons and this clerk might be the best option there is in this mess. 


	105. Chapter 105

They say he’s improving and they’re probably right. Or not. Juice really can’t tell. He’s not sure when he lost the ability to read his own body, only that it happened gradually and without any thought put into it. It’s been more of a way to cope, to detach himself from the experience of too much pain and humiliation. If you no longer view your body or mind as something of value in any way, it gets easier to shut down and simply loose the connection with it. Meeting Chibs again opened it up a little, an equally sweet and terrifying experience, being reminded of how it felt to be held and cared for.  
  
Something has changed and at first Juice isn’t sure what or how. The staff is more gentle with him though and he’s not cuffed to the bed anymore. They have, how ever, put plaster around his arm to prevent him from ripping the needle. He’s not doing it on purpose, but  when the nightmares or panic attacks are particularly bad, he tends to twitch and tug on anything he can reach and restrains only make the panic worse. The plaster itches like a bitch but it’s better than cuffs and ripped up skin.  
  
Both the padre and Chibs keep visiting daily and when the flowers from Venus withers, they’re replaced with new ones. Daisies, lilies, even roses. They’re nice to look at, make the room feel less sterile and Juice doesn’t ask who they’re from because even if he knows he’s a charity case, it’s easier to handle if at least some part of this has no particular face.  
  
He’s not to worry. That’s what they keep saying. Not about the club, the bills, the room, the job or the kitten. His own mind. No, they don’t say the last one but it’s implied. Juice would laugh at it, if he could. Him not worrying is about as likely as Chibs quitting the fags and joining a fitness club. The only time Juice isn’t worried, is when he’s too stuffed with downers to care, which ironically is worrying in itself. What does it say about him, that the only time he can stand himself, is when he’s unable to feel a shit? Juice doesn’t worry, because the meds stops him from doing it.  
  
Chibs has changed too and somewhere back in his mind, Juice is very aware of how strange some of it is, that the Scot is showing a care, a gentleness far beyond what he did even in good times. The kiss was… well, Juice isn’t capable of contemplating that one, really. They’ve not mentioned it or the equally fragile subject of what they might or might not have felt for each other in the past because it’s too painful. At least that’s why Juice can’t bring it up and they haven’t kissed again.  
  
But there are touches. Gentle, innocent touches from the Scot’s rough hands. Chaste kisses dropped on his hair and forehead. The careful presence of a warm and familiar, rather large body laying beside him some days and even nights. The nightmares are significantly fewer and less nerve wreckening on those occasions, easier to soothe.   
  
They don’t talk much. Only what’s necessary. Information on things that are less likely to stir up the wrong kind of emotions and that’s probably good. As long as Chibs stays close to him like this, Juice really doesn’t care much about words.   
  
His apparantly touch starved body screams for closeness, can’t get enough of it and sometimes the meds aren’t able to shut off all of the shame attached to the neediness. He’s not a child for fucks sake, and all this clinging onto Chibs makes Juice feel pathetic but not once is he rejected or huffed at for it. Chibs simply arranges them both in whatever position that’s comfortable enough for the moment and shameful and pathetic or not, it really helps, not only with the nightmares.  
  
Juice rarely cries now and when he does, it’s from nightmares he can’t make himself describe to anyone because they’re all about wounds he needs to keep hidden as much as he’s able to. Nothing will be better if he puts words onto them and after a couple of tries to have him talk about without succeeding, the priest, nurses and Chibs stop asking.   
  
Sometimes when Chibs’ body is too stiff from laying on the bed, he arranges them so that he’s sitting on the end with Juice’s head in his lap. It looks ridiculous and Juice points it out once only to get one of the Scot’s famous _don’t waste any air arguing with me on this one_ looks. He doesn’t argue about it after that, mostly because it’s a comfortable position.  
  
Usually, when laying like that, the Scot is scratching Juice’s scalp or just caressing it with his palm, while reading a magazine or even a book. After what seems like a really fucking long time, Juice one day wakes up from a nap and can’t stop the worry, just has to ask from his comfortable position in Chibs’ lap.  
  
“Chibs?”  
“Aye?”  
  
The man puts the book down and looks at him. Juice swallows.  
  
“What are… I mean… You being here this much…”  
“Ye’re worried ‘bout the club?”  
“Yeah.”  
“If ye can promise not to scream or get a panic attack, I’ll tell ye something. Two things…”  
  
Juice huffs.  
  
“Yeah, like I can control that… Wont scream, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
Chibs starts scratching his hair.  
  
“They don’t know.”  
“What?”  
  
He knows he promised to keep calm, but _fuck…_ The horrifying realisation Chibs is doing this, visiting a rat, behing their back is like a punch in his stomach.  
  
“Ch-chibs, you can’t… _Oh, Jesus…_ ”  
“Hey, stop it. Calm down, lad!”  
  
The staff will come in if he starts screaming and Chibs cradles his head, takes his hand, squeezes it and grimazes from the stiffness in his own back as he bends down to kiss Juice’s forehead, nuzzling him and whispering.  
  
“No screaming, lovey. They’ll kick me out an’ I don’ wannae leave ye. Lil’ darlin’… jus’ calm down, please… Can’t tell ye shite if ye’re howlin’ like this, ye numpty.”  
  
There’s something with Chibs’ voice that’s always had a soothing effect on him. Maybe because the Scot sounds like he’s got everything under control, even when he hasn’t and everyone, himself included, knows that. Juice lets himself be soothed, just enough to stop the panic from blossom in full and Chibs moves from the bed to re-arrange them so he can lie down.  
  
It can’t be very comfortable for the man but Juice doesn’t argue. The closeness is comforting and makes the shifting feelings of sinking and fluttering, of not really knowing his body anymore decrease a little. Chibs just keeps caressing him, mumbling soft words in that sharp accent and it helps. The attack evens out and Juice tries to breathe evenly, encouraged by the firm, warm circles from Chibs’ palm on his shoulders.  
  
“Listen to me, lad… Ye’ve been in tha’ bed for almost two weeks now.”  
“ _W-weeks?_ ”  
“Aye. Tha’ runnin’ off got onto ye pretty bad, muppet. Which leads me to tha’ other thing.”  
_“What?”_  
“Talked to the priest before ye woke up. They found yer cat.”


	106. Chapter 106

“And I always figured you were the brain of the club, Filip.”  
“Only when he has his women on distance, babe. That’s why his marriage is still alive and prospering.”  
  
Tig’s sardonic little smile seems permanent on his face today and he pets Mina who’s laying on his legs on the couch. Chibs snorts.  
  
“Aye, ye should know all about keepin’ women happy tha’ way, brother.”  
“Takes one to know one.”  
“Oh, please, cut it you two!”  
  
Seeing Venus is like visiting a combination of Gemma, a soccer player in high heels, Chibs’ mother, an old whore and an Irish shot caller. Caring, calculating, easy to mistake for all body and no brain – or a freak – tough as nails and three steps ahead. No matter what Chibs feels for Juice, he can’t understand how it’s possible to feel any physical attraction to Venus, but on some level he can understand a psychological one. Tig has never been so happy and it shows. Not so much in public, of course, but that look of utter and complete amazement the man had when he first met her for those blackmail photos, has never really left him. He worships the ground she walks on and doesn’t give a shit about what his brothers think.    
  
Venus gives Chibs a kiss on his cheek and hands him a cup of coffee.  
  
“Why did you tell him about the cat, Filip? You must’ve known he’d be upset.”  
  
Yeah, why? Chibs sips on the coffee.  
  
“Thought he’d be happy. Relieved she was alive.”  
  
Tig snorts.  
  
“Yeah, until he found out some kid had her.”  
  
Chibs just grunts. He knows he should’ve been quiet about it. Sure, the notes put up by the priest helped finding the creature but no one, least of all Chibs, had counted on some well-seen, proper and in every outer way perfect middleclass couple adopting it for their nine year old daughter. For one second, Juice had had the happiest smile Chibs had seen on that face in years and a moment later, the lad was devestated. Completely fucking devestated.  
  
Chibs just shakes his head.  
  
“How the hell did I end up in this shite… Jesus Christ…”  
  
His life used to be, not easy but predictable. Handling the club, members and their families, crow eaters, hookers, porn stars, other clubs, drug and gun dealers, cartels, cops, prison guards, nazis and IRA... That’s what he’s used to, what he’s good at and Juice and his bloody kitten is nothing of that. It’s a different kind of mess, one Chibs has managed to avoid up until recently. He loved Fiona, still loves her for giving him his beautiful daughter. He’s had his fun with women over the years and he had it good with Althea until she reminded him it wouldn’t work.  
  
He loves women, but on a distance. Loved Fiona like a husband should until their marriage went to shite, loves his daughter like a father is supposed to, only not showing it as often as he should. He loves his brothers in the club like his own flesh and blood, but what he feels for Juice is… just something entirely different and far more mind fucking. It messes with his head, leaves his nerves raw and naked and the reasons he’s kept it at bay over the years, are as many as they’re logical.  
  
A Son can’t be gay. Definitely not. A Sergeant at Arms, hell no. VP? Forget it – Tig is an exception and Venus a woman. (Yes, appearance matters and the concept of bisexuality only acceptable with girl on girl.) Pres? Might just as well put up a “shoot me” sign. And just to add the batshit crazy topping on it: a pres getting into the sack with a rat who lost his patch. It’s just completely insane. Chibs is fucked in so many ways and through the mess spinning around in his stupid old head, all the should:s and shouldn’t:s, the why:s and how:s and real or imaginary accusing fingers and voices, there’s always that one voice cutting through, reaching further than flesh and blood, tattoos, oaths and brotherhood, touching a part of him he thought he had under control.  
  
Venus’ perfume is discrete and fresh and Chibs doesn’t even contemplate that his face is resting between her breasts, that he’s crying down his brothers’ old lady’s neckline, when it started or why he didn’t notice, if Tig is still there or what they’re thinking of him.  
  
It’s been coming to him in small steps, hints, easily ignored before Juice showed up again and since then it’s just been a constant battle for control between the patch and himself, the heart and mind. Shame and guilt for what the young prospect made him feel just from that stupid smile. The absolute lack of self-preservation, the need for approval and how he just took the others teasing with a grin, seemingly accepting it before turning the tables by showing just how much these old bastards needed his computor skills and that he knew his way around the mechanical stuff just as well as Bobby or Piney.  
  
Chibs cries for that sunny grin, those nervous eyes and all the bravado hiding something far more lonely and fragile than Chibs or anyone else could imagine. For all the shit the kid caused, it was never, not once out of greed, petty vengeance, want for power or calculated, personal agendas designed to use the club to his own benefit. It’s about stupidity, fear, short-sightedness, lack of trust, desperation and a self-despise outrunning all the combined anger, disgust and hatred the club could come up with for the transgressions. It’s not thinking in black and white that leaves Chibs’ mind scattered, but the grayscales, the crossroads where neither heart nor reason can win or back off.   
  
And in another time, another world where he’d been a better, more observant and gentle, less headstrong man caring less about principles than hearts _and_ minds, perhaps – just perhaps – he’d been in another kitchen now, his own boring, rarely used kitchen having too strong coffee with Juice’s feet in his lap and the smell of engine grease getting mixed up with strong cigarettes and the other man’s shower gel. But he is netiher good, observant, forgiving nor soft. He’s only an old, battered idiot who thought his mind had anything to put up against a little, broken heart.


	107. Chapter 107

He’s crying more over the kitten than the club, his family or all his personal demons and losses combined. At least it feels like that. There’s probably some clinical, fancy word for this reckless display of fucked up emotions, but Juice isn’t the least interested in hearing or thinking of it, because he’s too busy grieving a stupid cat he thought was dead, only to find out she’s in someone elses, far better care.  
  
Juice can picture his furry friend, being gifted as a birthday present for a little girl who’ll probably stop giving a shit about Dyna when she’s no longer a small, fluffy kitten. Just one among countless other presents to a spoiled middle-class kid. (No, he’s not fair, so what?) She’s _his_. He took care of her, dried, warmed and fed her. He let her nap on his shoulder, carried her under his hoodie and she would purr and mewl and buff her head at him as soon as he came home or woke up. Sure, there are no papers that can prove she’s his, he didn’t buy or adopt her officially but she belongs to him and her name is _Dyna_ , for fucks sake, not Cinnamon – who the fuck names a yellow cat _Cinnamon_?!  
  
It doesn’t matter what anyone says. The only thing that makes him stop crying, is another shot of meds and he’s still sniffling pathetically as he’s dozing off. Once he’s awake again he feels like his head is filled with cotton and his face is sore, probably red and swollen but he’s been avoiding mirrors for a long time and that’s a habit he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t need a reflection to see his own ugliness.  
  
He should be grateful, he guesses. Just being happy she’s alive and well, probably getting spoiled and having all kinds of special cat toys and expensive, specially made kitten food instead of cheap kibble and tuna. It’s just that she was the only living creature who wouldn’t leave or judge him and she was there when literally no one else was, waiting for him, nuzzling up to him and knowing nothing of his past transgressions, twisted feelings or inner conflicts.  
  
Juice knows what he’s supposed to do. What any responsible, reasonable 36-year-old man would do when his lost stray kitten ended up with a happy little girl turning nine. For Christs sake, he only had the creature for a few weeks and it’s not as if there aren’t tons of other strays if he… But no, not for him. Dyna was his little token of life, something alive and warm whom he mattered to. She kept him off the edge, Chibs alone wouldn’t have been enough, no way. Loosing her like this feels worse than if she’d died. It’s selfish to think like that, but he can’t help it. There’s no room left in him for generosity and mature thinking of that kind. _She’s mine… She’s mine…_  
  
“I know, I know… I’m so sorry, Juicyboy…”  
  
Chibs doesn’t try to reason with him, he just keeps petting his hair and shoulders. No false comfort or smoothing things over, that’s not his style and even though it means Juice isn’t getting any temporary soothing to calm shit in the moment, it’s probably for the best. Just as Dyna being with… someone else. _She’s his. His, not some kid’s!_ Her mom and dad can get her another one and Juice can… what? Rent a room that allows animals? Living of what? He doesn’t even have a job anymore, he’s pretty sure of that.  
  
Sooner or later, there’ll simply just not be physically possible to cry anymore and Juice is exhausted, emotionally drained and so sick of feeling, not feeling, not knowing what the hell he’s feeling because it’s like driving 80 mph only not moving in any fucking direction. At least a kitten is something real, something physical one can see and touch, even if Juice can’t. Not now. Of all things breaking him completely for anyone entering this room to see, it’s not the club, his past transgressions, the rapes, the loneliness, shame or fear, but a kitten.  
  
He’s curled onto Chibs’ chest and the man carefully removes the teardrenched, snotty shirt, leaving him only with his black wifebeater and the warmth of his inked skin underneath. Juice is still not warm.  
  
“Ye have some options once ye’re outta here, lovey.”  
  
Soft touches, kind words. Suddenly opened doors. As if there are more choices than just different forms and levels of nothing. Juice doesn’t remember the last time he felt that. Has he ever?  
  
“The priest… He told me he’s offered ye a place with’im.”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Fingers in his hair, kisses on his head. Heart beating steady against his face. Juice remembers breaking it, the snap of the tree branch, the punches in the garage, the icy voice at the diner and the back turning, the face who couldn’t bare to look at him leaving. Hidden behind leather and cheap cotton fabric, the heart might have stopped beating for Juice, but that wound never stopped bleeding. If it had, Chibs wouldn’t be here. That much Juice knows.  
  
“I love you, Chibs.”  
  
Not _brother._ He’s got no right to that word anymore. Not _loved._ Now is now and that’s the only real truth Juice is left with. So much are just sliding up and down a greyscale that looks different for everyone but of all things Juice knows to be true no matter where he is, what state his fucked up mind is in or what he does or doesn’t regret doing, this is the one. He loves Chibs, as a brother, a mentor, someone to look up to for guidance and support, yes, but it was never the whole truth.  
  
“I love ye too, muppet. Always have, always will…”  
  
They’ve said it before. All the “I love you, brother” slipping their mouths so easily back when things were still good. Like a mantra, like it became true just because everyone kept saying it. Thinking of it now, it sounds more like parrot talk. Juice never understood how people could choose to kill a loved one out of some fucked up sense of justice. He never wanted anyone in the club dead, can’t find it in his heart to, not even after Jax’s green light. It’s like betraying something going deeper than any club or blood bounds. That’s not shutting a door, it’s digging another hole, making another grave to visit, tying a headstone in a chain onto your back.  
  
Loving someone who doesn’t hurt you, who never put that love to a test, what’s the brotherhood in that? Even rightout assholes with merely a teaspoon of love left in them can do that. It’s what’s still there for those who left you broken, betrayed, abandoned and hollow that’s the real test. Loving someone who doesn’t deserve it, maybe can’t or wont return it, simply because you can’t stop. When that love has been growing for so long, discrete and without fucking fireworks or deep words, gotten roots so deep there’s no way to cut them without loosing some of your own.  
  
It’s not the club, not Jax, not Clay, not the sum of his then brothers who is the root. They’re there, they’re _roots_ for sure, but also the rope, the branch and the false promise of atonement. Unspoken, unreckognized or not, it was always Chibs who was the focal point. Loosing him was to loose the only one who’d still love Juice even if he’d turn blind, paralyzed, brain damaged or just fucking nuts. Not out of pity, but because it’s who he is and betraying the club will never, no matter how Chibs talks about loyalty and seeing the bigger picture, sacrificing the personal goals for the good of the many, come even close to the pain of betraying someone, one single person you love. Not for Juice.  
  
Juice nuzzles the warm, strong chest. He’s not sure what’s left of them after these mad weeks, only that Chibs’ heart still beats as steady as always, that his smell, touch and body still feel the same. The wishes hidden beneath what the meds make Juice able to see and look at without shutting down from shame, are open wounds he doesn’t need to touch right now. He’s not good on his own, but he’s not a group person either, not like Chibs. And when listening to those calm beats of blood pumping life, it doesn’t seem to matter what patch Chibs wears on his cut, which tats are decorating his body, or which ones are gone from Juice’s. Not anymore.


	108. Chapter 108

He does it because it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s felt like a betrayal of some sort and Chibs really isn’t a person who can carry around that kind of burden for too long. The moral conflict simpy torns him apart and that’s even worse than confessing to his brothers. Technically, Chibs hasn’t violated any rules, but admitting to everyone he’s been seeing Juice, that he’s visiting him at the hospital and not at all on the page of even considering another mayhem vote, is emotional treason.  
  
Ratboy and Quinn are upset, so is Montez and there are no doubts whatsoever how Happy feels about it. The ones who are less emotional about it, are those who got patched in after the madness, who never met Juice and not Jax either. Except Tig, of course, and Ratboy turns to him.  
  
“You’re okay with this, Tig?”  
“No, but it’s not about what’s okay or not.”  
  
Quinn scowls.  
  
“What do you mean, Tig?”  
  
The VP leans back, looking almost disturbingly calm.  
  
“Since Jax and Clay… All the shit that went down, what we’ve all tried to get away from, I just don’t think it’s good for anyone, especially not the club, if we make too hasty decisions.”  
“He’s a rat!”  
“Yes, and Jax used him! I loved Jax and I loved Clay, but if we’re gonna talk about rats and traitors here, I’d prefer if we could stop pretending what Juice did happened in a vacuum or that he was alone in betraying the club. I don’t give a shit about Juice, but it’s time to move on. What he did was treason, but what Jax did... He put his own family in the ground because he couldn’t fucking decide who he wanted to be. This club aint a fucking gameboard and Juice aint a game piece.”  
  
Tig sighs.  
  
“I’m sick and tired of schemes, secrets and blood, that’s all. Aint talking about patching him in, just that we let old shit be. He didn’t rat once when he was inside and walked to his death willingly. For the club. Had it been me, I wouldn’t have given a rats ass for a club who wanted me dead.”  
  
It sounds like he’s drawing a line. Wrapping up a shitstorm neatly in a package, as if it’s that simple. Chibs knows it isn’t, was taught that since before he could talk by an extremely headstrong and unforgiving father who saw injustice and betrayals within everyone but himself. Sad bastard.  
  
“He’s staying here?”  
  
Happy. Chibs knows he has no evidence that his brother trashed Juice’s room and scared the living shite out of him, but it’s a pretty safe bet, even with the graffiti smiley scrubbed off. Juice wouldn’t lie about that, not in the condition he was in. Chibs isn’t even sure the lad remembers telling him and that’s probably for the best.  
  
“Stockton. He’s got some connections there. Legal ones, not associated with us or any gang. Or the cops.”  
  
It’s vague but they accept it, seemingly, and Chibs folds his hands together.  
  
“I know I overstepped when I met him again and I understand if yer trust in me isn’t… what it was. Never shared any club information an’ as far as I’m concerned, the only thing ‘es a threat to, is himself.”  
  
Ratboy snorts.  
  
“Why am I not surprised… Always thought he’d die from something like crossing the street without looking or mistaking antifreeze for moonshine.”  
  
Everyone but Happy snicker at that, even Chibs can’t help but smiling. It’s good-natured, they always teased Juice and more than anything, Chibs misses to see that puppy-eyed face on daily basis, switching from deep, skilled concentration to that childlike cluelessness that could make Chibs roll his eyes and groan from exasperation.  
  
Quinn, who seems to have taken Tig’s words to heart, looks straight at Chibs.  
  
“I don’t trust him, Chibs. I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind about him but I assume you out of all people have good reasons.”  
  
Chibs grits his teeth and nods.  
  
“Aye. We all know wha’ Jackie did, set a whole lot of shite in motion. What happened with Clay, Gemma and Tara… Tully carried out the green light on Jax’s personal order and as Tig said, the kid walked into it willingly. Tully reached out afterwards, as ye all know.”  
  
They nod. They remember, those who were there at the time. Bringing up another vote to the table seemed unnecessairy, pitiful even, because a lot of them, just as Tully, seemed to think that by handing him that sharpened plastic piece and giving himself up freely, the fault for Juice still being alive wasn’t on the kid. A living death is also atonement and Tully got whatever he did or didn’t deserve in the end, while Juice was forgotten. Wiped out.  
  
If giving yourself up and then denying yourself the mercy of a way out by living on in that kind of isolation isn’t punishment enough, then what is? They may be men of mayhem, but they’re not devils masked as humans.  
  
“Is the ink gone?”  
  
Ratboy is the one to break the silence and Chibs knows his cheeks are colouring as he nods.  
  
“Aye. Tully took care of it.”  
  
Tig nods too.  
  
“Jones, from Samtaz, confirmed. Served time for assault when Juice was there. Tully showed it.”  
  
Chibs can’t help the chill creeping down his spine. He thought they’d talked about that already, when it was done and confirmed and the vote went down. Hearing Juice being referred to as _it_ , makes Chibs stomach curl in a very unpleasant way because even when he could barely think the kid’s name in his head without feeling the gut-wrenching, white wrath burning inside, he wasn’t able to turn Juice into something akin to a _thing_. Chibs swallows.  
  
“If anyone here has a problem with me seein’ him, I’d like to hear it now. Openly.”  
  
He’s taking a huge risk here, he knows that. If anyone has an objection it wont look good if he ignores it and still, not seeing Juice again simply isn’t an option anymore.  
  
“Not as long as it’s discreet, pres.”  
  
Ratboy. Unwilling but never stubborn to a fault. And he may or may not forgive or even be able to understand Juice – or Chibs – but this is more than Chibs could ever have hoped for. With Ratboy bending there’s really only Quinn and Happy left and when Quinn gives his headshake consent, Happy only hesitates for a moment, those incredulous eyes piercing Chibs’ for a second before taking the toothpick out.  
  
“If he just stays away from us and doesn’t start getting cosy with the feds again, I don’t really give a shit.”  
  
The gavel falls, Chibs is barely aware he’s the one holding it, only that with a little sound of tree against tree echoing in the chapel, Samcro just gave him permission to fraternise with an unofficially ex-communicated member instead of having him killed. And he feels grateful, relieved and completely mortified for doing the exact thing he’d promised not to use this gavel for: gaining a personal favour.


	109. Chapter 109

“I really don’t care, father.”  
“Chibs…”  
  
Chibs ignores Juice, or at least his small protest.  
  
“T’is not her pet!”  
  
The last thing Juice wants, is for Chibs and the priest to start some kind of beef, especially with him in the middle. The two men actually look pretty ridiculous, standing on each side of the hospital bed, with Juice like some kind of cradled, coughing oldie in the middle. The fact that he’s been dozed with more downers from another upsetting panic attack earlier this day doesn’t exactly make him feel like more of someone to be reckognized with.  
  
Father Mark smirks.  
  
“You’re just gonna walk into a family and take their daughter’s cat?”  
“Never said I was a good man. Don’ give a shite.”  
  
The scarred former IRA member, Samcro’s pres arguing with a clerk over a rat’s stray kitten. The world really can change. Or maybe it’s just showing another side of it’s usual highly fucked up. Regardless, no one’s keeping Juice’s cat but he can’t have people shouting at – or across – him. It makes him nervous, anxious as hell and tension creeps back up his spine.  
  
“Please, Chibby…? Padre? You really have to have your dick measuring contest about my cat here?”  
  
They actually have the decency to look embarrassed. It’s not really what one would call dignified for either a clerk or an MC leader to argue about a kitten in a hospital room and judging by the way Chibs straightens his cut and the padre clears his throat, they are very aware of that. Not that Juice isn’t grateful for Chibs’ efforts on his behalf – or the priest’s – but one human wreck putting emotions on display in here is more than enough. Juice closes his eyes, he’s so tired.  
  
“Just… _talk_ to them. Please?”  
  
The emphasy on talk gets to Chibs, it’s clear. Juice doesn’t even have to see his face, he can feel it from the way the man is remaining still by his side. This feeling of vulnerability whenever he hears an even slightly raised voice is fucking awful, considering how pitiful even the sight of him is. It makes Juice feel childish, small and stupid. Someone to pet on the head or just ignore. Sadly, these downers they’re giving him don’t erase that feeling and crying in front of Chibs is bad enough.  
  
“Father, can ye give us the room, please?”  
  
And the Scot knows it. He looks at the priest and Father Mark leaves after a nod from Juice. One person in the audience to his breakdown is quite enough and Juice tries to breathe a little more even, eyes closed again as the threatening panic attack stills before it can go into full blossom. Stopping the tears is another matter entirely.  
  
“S-sorry, man, I’m… I’m tryin’ to…”  
“Hey, stop ramblin’, lad.”  
  
He’s not himself, hasn’t been for a very long time and Juice wants to explain. Tell Chibs that he might be a coward rat, an idiot and possibly mad, but he’s not an utter pussy.  
  
“I-I know it’s stupid, Chibs, I…”  
“Tig put in his veto for Kozik because of a bloody dog, an’ Kozik didn’t even mean to off it. Ye’re hardly alone in getting’ up to high doh over a pet, kiddo.”  
  
The calm. The complete lack of ridicule or disdain. Juice leans his face in his hands, supporting elbows on his pulled up knees. Everything still hurts a little, but not unbaringly so in any way. The exhaustion is worse. And the uncertainty. The goddamn shame he thought himself being too numb to feel again.  
  
“Have some good news.”  
“What?”  
“The club is fine with me seein’ ye.”  
“You… you told them?!”  
“Hey, hey! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, laddie, will ye just listen to me before ye send yerself into another fit? Christ…”  
  
Chibs carefully wraps his arms around him, cradling his head with the warm palm and rocks him softly.  
  
“Remember wha’ I did in the army, lad?”  
“Yeah… Medic…”  
“Aye. Panic, anxiety, PTSD… Have seen it all, t’is nothin’ new to me, alright, an’ I should’ve figured tha’ one out when I first saw ye again, but I was…”  
“Too pissed?”  
“And too self-centred. Have my moments of lettin’ my feelins’ take over, kiddo. Aint gonnae sit here an’ go through all that shite now, but the point is, I should’ve looked out better for ye, no, don’t argue with me, kiddo, let me finish…”  
  
The protest dies in the man’s arms and Chibs keeps petting his back, the sore and too visible spine, with long, soft strokes.  
  
“We’ll talk more ‘bout this when ye feel better, Juice. Just… I… I’ve always, _always_ regretted not listening to ye at the diner… Thought I’d done wha’ I could for ye, tha’ ye were too far gone to… But tha’… Tha’s not the only reason, lovey. Not as if I hadn’t experienced treason before… No, no, Juicy, ye don’t need to explain yerself again. Just… listen? Lemme do wha’ I should’ve done to ye… please?”  
  
They’re two grown men. Chibs is closing up to the inevitably second part of his life, where it doesn’t matter whether you’re a walking advert for health or an outlaw biker with aching joints and scars all over. The death half, as his da used to call it. Juice is younger, but has walked on the death half for a long time. It’s not as if nature – or life itself – is fair. Chibs may be a tough old bird, but Juice knows he never belonged to the kind of men who considered tears and heartbreak as something shameful. God awful painful and always inconvenient, yes, but they’re parts of life, no matter your age.  
  
“Will ye give me tha’ chance again, Juice? Never _wanted_ ye to pull the trigger an’ I don’ know why I didn’t keep ye closer after ye tried to off yerself. Should’ve listened better, kiddo, and I’m… tryin’ to do now wha’ I didn’t do then. I brought it to the table because I couldn’t lie to them, but I asked them, Juicyboy, asked them right out at the table because whatever this is, I… I just don’t wannae loose ye again if I… if t’is not necessary. Guess wha’ I’m tryin’ to say is, I’m sorry.”  
  
It’s fragile. So damn fragile and Juice can feel it. His former brother’s fear, the old, stubborn heart put on display and the risks he’s been taking.  
  
“Nothing to forgive, Chibbie.”  
  
Not brother. Juice can no longer think of him like that, he has no right, but that particular thing doesn’t feel painful anymore. Not like it used to. For some reason he still can’t fully understand, he has a place in Chibs’ heart that is, not protected from, but less colored by the patch and the treason.  
  
“Ye paid for yer sins, Juice. More than most would’ve… Whoever did this to ye, doesn’t have the club’s blessing, I assure ye tha’. Even Tig spoke up for ye. Wont pretend everyone was happy ‘bout this, but no one voted against it. I can still see ye, ye numpty. Can start helpin’ ye, if ye let me…”  
“That’s what you really want, Chibbie? ‘Cause sparing me is one thing, but…”  
“Aye. I do.”  
  
Chibs’ eyes are dark. They’re open, piercing and when they turn cold, it’s like being stripped to the bone and declared untouchable, unworthy of even being looked at in disdain. That look is one Juice never wants to meet again.  
  
“I… I didn’t try to off myself. In the forest…”  
“I know.”  
  
The Scot’s voice turns slightly quiter, softer, lips brushing over Juice’s hair.  
  
“Focus on gettin’ better, kiddo. Try an’ not worry too much, okay? Aint gonnae turn my back on ye again, that’s a promise. Jus’ don’ mention to anyone I got into a fight ‘bout a cat with a priest. Ever. Can’t blame it on bein’ drunk or high so…”  
  
Juice can feel the smile against his head and a very small chuckle leaves him. The fear isn’t gone, it takes more than a promise, no matter how sincere, to change that. It doesn’t give Dyna back either, or makes Juice feel less useless or stupid. But it feels less shameful and the careful strokes over his sore spine, as much as the comforting words, collects a few of the pieces of his shattered life, putting them together again like a spine slowly starting to grow out for the second time.


	110. Chapter 110

It’s difficult to understand the depth of it. Juice’s isolation. It’s far less uncomfortable than examining himself, though. Chibs isn’t unfamiliar with loneliness, getting lost, loosing a place or managing without the support of others. He was ex-communicated from Real IRA, for God’s sake, and the one slamming the door in his face stole his family as well as the country he’d started to see as his own. But despite that, Fiona never stopped him from having some contact with Kerrianne and no matter the distance, Chibs always got letters and photos and sent his little lass birthday and Christmas gifts. Not openly from him, but after he got his hands on Jimmy O, there’s been time and opportunities for more transparation.  
  
Kerrianne knew the gifts and cards were from him, when she got older. Clever lass as she is, she knew to keep her mouth shut and it eases a little of Chibs’ sense of guilt, knowing his daughter’s image of him isn’t too tainted from his absence and Jimmy’s influence. They were kept from each other, but not cut off.  
  
Sons Of Anarchy becomes your family once you’re patched in, that’s how it works and it’s far from uncommon for members to have shitty backgrounds, strained or unexisting family ties. Not everyone has an old lady even if they’d want to, because they’re simply not lucky or skilled with women, and some prefers to just stay with the sweetbutts in the club house. Chibs sometimes figures what has separated him the most from others, especially in his younger days, is his ability never to loose himself too much to forget about condoms. Another kid, the Clam – or fucking HIV – thank God were never things he got himself into. And despite the ex-communication from Real IRA and not getting to see his lass, Chibs has not once felt isolated or faced a threat of complete loneliness.   
  
It’s starting to sink in now, what he refused to look into when Juice needed it the most. The lad – why the hell can’t he stop referring to a grown man as lad, kid or boy? – is resting in Chibs’ arms again. He’s thin, pale and a fucking mess. He’s done the club, Chibs and so many others a lot of harm but he’s not Jimmy O, he’s not a Teller and no spineless coward.   
  
Finding Juice under that tree, or beating him up to make a point already made, telling him to pull the trigger or literally turning his back on him… All those things form a chain of some of the most difficult things Chibs has ever done and it’s been dragging him down, holding him back ever since. What he feels for Juice was a wound Chibs had patched up and refused to scratch but time never healed it and if he’s perfectly honest with himself, he never thought it would. It was always about handling, covering and not touching it. Loving someone you must turn your back on is a very heavy burden for a human heart. Being _in_ love with that person too, could make you mad for real.  
  
For all his efforts to make a life that Tara and the kids could fit into, Jax was always mostly angry, offended and most of all increadibly vengeful. The kid’s feelings and vulnerability were just as visible and headless as Juice’s, a lot of the time far more so and effected far more people. He simply had strong family support, a certainty of his place and value and blatant selfishness skillfully hidden and disguised as concerns for the club. Juice had nothing of that and it’s starting to eating it’s way into Chibs’ heart and mind. Especially since Jax met Mr. Mayhem entirely on his own terms in some sort of completely unjustified glory as if what he did was something honorable. And just before that, Juice had willingly sacrificed himself with calm and dignity. Smiling.   
  
Chibs follows the lines of Juice’s face, the cheekbones, the stubbled chin, the gentle curve of the slightly chapped lips. Juice is hardly the same lean, healthy and strong man as before, but sickness and wounds matter very little to Chibs. His own scars have been both attraction marks and made women turn away. He is old and fat with a creeping hairline and saggy skin. And unlike the crow eaters or women outside the club who find the whole outlaw thing hot in it’s own, Juice is hardly impressed by the simple look of worn leather and hardass attitude. What he needs right now – and probably needed before shit went to hell – is for someone to just be there.  
  
“You meant that? Me having paid for…”  
  
The words sound so wrong. Like he’s a pound of flesh, a piece of meat to be weighed, sized up and a tag of approval stuck on him. Is that how he saw himself by the end? When he went inside on Jax’s orders…? Chibs swallows. The naked ugliness,the full extent of the man’s loneliness put in display for him to see. And still, despite it all, there’s something there the kid trying to off himself didn’t have. A very small and considering where he ended up, quite unhealthy sense of pride. All he wanted was a clean death that may or may not had pictured him as weak and pathetic, but at least not… _Ye coward!_  
  
“Chibs? C’mon, man? Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”  
“Don’.”  
“What?”  
“Apologise. Don’ do tha’, lovey. No’ anymore.”  
  
It’s Chibs who should be the one to do that. He can blame a lot of shit for not listening on Juice, but none of his reasons seems fair now. He traces the skin where he knows the burn from the chain was. There’s no sign left of it now, it’s long since gone and replaced with a scar from a stab wound supposed to be lethal.   
  
Chibs traces the invisible line around the throat. He lets his thumb follow where he remembers the red and bruised marking, down to the scar from sharpened plastic. Both of them intended to put an end to something Chibs only now begins to see. When Juice tenses, swallowing as if in shame once again, fearing the memory, Chibs bends further down, pressing his lips against the sore neck, right where the invisible line goes, salty wetness traling down as in the woods that dark night. This time, it’s not Juice who’s crying.


	111. Chapter 111

_Ye paid for yer sins._ After all the things Chibs has done for him lately, is it really fair to be surprised? Maybe not, but five words in Scottish accent can’t erase the past or the shame. The sense of guilt has become an organ in Juice’s body, or a wen inside, pressing against his heart for a long time. Clay once joked that his transgressions were all he had, but that’s a truth in Juice’s case.   
  
One of few times when Juice actually wanted to listen to Tully, was after an unexpected crying session early in the morning, before lights on. The other con was probably disturbed by Juice’s sobs and had climbed down from his bunk, not to hit, threaten or rape him, but to comfort. It wasn’t very nice, but it was the best Juice could hope for in that place. The man had pulled Juice close and held him, whispered with the soft yet raspy voice in the darkness that he’d deserved better.  
  
Juice still isn’t sure if Tully tried to comfort or mock him, or if he just stated something he considered to be a fact. He hated the nazi who raped him, and himself for not putting up a fight, but for some reason he’d not been able to hate _that_. The comfort. Sick and twisted as it was, it was literally all he had left of human contact. His transgressions, the result of them in forms of the club’s just hate and disdain, the loss of friends, freedom and belonging was all because of his own weakness and being held and cuddled by a nazi who had Jax’s blessing to rape and eventually kill him once the club couldn’t use him anymore. There was never a way back and he should’ve known that the day Jax sent him on the mission. At least, and it sickens Juice almost more than his own cowardness, Tully never promised him anything or pretended to be something he wasn’t.   
  
It is surprising. And upsetting. Juice doesn’t know what he truly feels about the absolution he was once so desperate to gain. It’s true what he told Chibbie, that he has nothing to forgive him, but Tully’s words from that dawn, still echo in his head. _Rat or not, you deserved better than that, sweetheart._ It was clear from the nazi’s tone of voice, how the deceptive smoothness no longer seemed to hide a sneer or even contempt, that he wasn’t trying to mock or torment his bitch. Maybe he just needed Juice to stop sniffling so he could sleep, but the nazi had shared his bunk that night without any attempts to rape or humiliate him. Those weirdly gentle arms and the soothing voice stopped him from loosing all contact with his own last sliver of humanity. At least he wasn’t all alone with his shame. What does it say about him, if being with a nazi rapist whom Jax had hired to kill him, was better than being on his own?  
  
He’s seen Chibs cry before. Has seen most of his brothers break down in tears on one occasion or another. They’re not stonecold psychos, after all. Chibs cried when he found Juice with the chain. Not much, and as usual the Scot managed to pull himself together quickly and leave the rage and shock to soothe Juice instead, in that stern way meant to bring them both back to a less fragile ground. Chibs’ way was never like this. Never loosing himself in grief, at least not in front of others. Of course, Juice doesn’t know how Chibs dealt with the heaviest shit once he was alone. Brothers or not, putting your heart on display was never an option for any Son. Not necessarily due to deep-rooted dispise for emotions and weakness, but to protect the club both from external threats and internal turmoil.   
  
On the other hand, Juice never saw this kind of emotional openness with other men and it makes sense that the kind of life they live – lived – with all the extremes, required more space to express emotions. How else could they’ve managed it without more outlet than bikes, hookers, booze and drugs could give?  
  
They’re left alone, thank God. Juice doesn’t speak, he’s never been good with comforting others, maybe because he’s rarely been someone people turn to for that. He’s the foot soldier, the confused puppy and the loyal idiot who knows computors better than people. He’s the bait, the weekest link and people just seem to know that by a single look at him. Juice never learned how to shut himself down from that kind of gaze until it was too late. Jax had it and it took a long time inside before Juice realised that. Those eyes that could shift so fast it was almost schizofrenic, from the friend and brother to ruthless killer and gang leader, truly not giving a shit about anything or anyone but himself.  
  
Juice should know by now, after Tully. He had the same kind of cold, predatory gaze, but unlike Jax he never tried to hide it with a mask of warmth. With him, everything was so very clear: Juice was a bitch, nothing more, and Tully didn’t dangle any carrots Juice couldn’t have. Tully didn’t need to break, threaten or beat him, and if your choises are either being raped until you bleed, beaten, humiliated and put on display, or being raped with a generous amount of lube, cuddled and read poems to, the latter was preferable. Jax gave him up without hesitation because to him it was never about the club, his old man’s heritage, the family or friends. In the end, they were all just means to an end and that’s what Chibs never understood. The soft, gullible idiot.  
  
For Clay, treason was a general offense and a problem to be dealt with, to Jax it was a personal offense. For Chibs, it’s nothing but pure, simple heartbreak. Juice strokes the brown and greyish hair that’s whitening around the temples.  
  
“Hey, Chibbie… They’ll come in soon…”  
  
He speaks softly, bending to kiss the man’s hair and it feels very strange. Not wrong, just different and weird. It was always the other way around. Always Juice – or someone else – needing the comfort, never Chibs. Not the passionate but always stern and steady Scot who’d rather think twice than follow a gut feeling, even when it came to really personal matters.  
  
_Ye paid for yer sins._  
  
As if it’s ever that easy.   
  
_Rat or not, you deserved better than that, sweetheart.  
_  
Did he?  
  
_Thank you for telling me the truth. I’ll make sure it’s quick._  
  
Mercy for someone, barely alive, in his our of need. Thank you, brother. Have no use for it now, but it’s a nice gesture. _  
_  
_He could do with a little lovin’._  
  
All of his brothers had _someone_ who loved them unconditionally, someone who didn’t have a place at the table. A wife, a girlfriend, kids. If they were lucky, maybe even a mother and father. Someone who would love them with or without the patch. All Juice ever had was the club, his fears and his stupidity. He was never good on his own, because somewhere he knew that without the club he would be truly and utterly alone.   
  
His chest hurts and the hopelessness in all the shit that he caused, makes him feel like a very old man. He’s so tired of running and hiding, of freezing on the spot, being moved like a piece on a gameboard. He’s weak and he knows it, there’s always a risk of being fooled again, either by someone he loves or himself. What does a forgiveness mean away from the spoken words? Juice runs a thumb under Chibs’ baggy, tired eyes.  
  
“I… I gotta tell you something, Chibs. T’is nothing I’ve been hiding from you or so. No bullshit from the past, okay? And I… I need you to just let me finish.”  
  
The Scot looks up for a moment and nods. Juice swallows.  
  
“When I get out from here, it doesn’t mean that I’ll… you know… That I’m fine. I don’t know how I’ll react or how I’ll feel. Could get… messy.”  
“Messy?”  
“Yeah… You’ve seen enough of me since I got out to know how fucked up I am. I’m basically a charity nutcase, man. The club allowing you to see me is… well, I don’t even know what to say, but I’m not exactly someone anyone would want to be seen openly with. I’m just not functioning.”  
“Ye wanna stay with the priest?”  
“No. Yes… and no. I don’t know. He’s nice and all and I doubt he’ll try and crawl up to me at night or anything.”  
“Jesus Christ, Juice…”  
  
Chibs sounds tormented and he shakes his head.  
  
“That’s where ye draw the line? That’s yer basic demands on someone?”  
“Don’t have to tell me it’s pathetic, I already know it is. But at the moment, that’s the truth.”  
“It’s mad, kiddo.”  
“Yeah well… you’re talking to someone who used to be grateful for being fucked without bleeding from it. Your idea of _basic demands_ kinda changes from that. Not saying this for you to pity me, Chibs. It’s just how it is right now and I’m not really in a position where I can lie about it successfully. I’m just... so tired. T’is just not the damn pneunomia or the club, man, it’s…”  
“Everythin’ combined and more…”  
“Something like that.”  
  
He’s saying this to warn him. If Chibs thinks staying with him will be an easy ride, Juice knows he’s in for a very unpleasant surprise. He doesn’t want that burden too, carrying the weight of not letting Chibs understand the full extent of his weakness.  He doesn’t need the man’s pity, just his clarity, those eyes wide open to just how bad things are. It will take so much more than meds, nutritional drinks and sleeping in someone’s arms to even come close to some kind of fixing. At best, it will bring enough comfort to just make it through the days. An MC pres has neither enough time nor few enough eyes on him to provide that kind of security for a shipwreck of Juice’s stature.  
  
“Juicyboy… Hey, look at me, kiddo.”  
  
Teary, pepper dark eyes.  Smiling eyes even it doesn’t reach the mouth with the perpetual grin carved into the cheeks.   
  
“I’ll find out who did this to ye and he’ll pay for it. The club voted and ye may be ex-communicated on paper, but we all know more now. Wont make up enough to patch ye back in or even come near Teller-Moore, but things have changed a bit since Jax’s… time. The boys appreciate the peace and quiet.”  
  
Juice lets out a laugh.  
  
“Yeah, I bet they do. Can’t say I miss blown up club houses, IRA kidnappings or family beefs either.”  
“Ye can still see me, though. And Tig and Venus.”  
“Tig?!”  
“Hey, don’t judge a book by it’s penis. Jesus, I’m quoting _her_ now… Tig wont harm ye, that’s the point, kiddo. He knows I… never really let ye go. That I couldn’t… Venus isn’t really the kind of partner ye choose if ye don’t understand how… things can fuck with yer head.”  
  
Juice understands. Can hear what Chibs, the ladykiller who worships tits and pussy, can’t find fitting words to describe. It’s as much of an emotional battle for him, as it is for Juice, only in a different shape. And if anyone would understand that, it should be Tig, regardless of what he thinks of Juice.  
   
“Ye can’t stay at my place, Juice. I’m rarely ever there and ye’ll just be on yer own too much. For now, the priest might be the best option. At least until we… know more.”  
  
About the club, Juice’s illness, Chibs’ and his feelings. It’s a reasonable plan, very Chibs-like and Juice twines one of the man’s hairs around his fingers.   
  
“Yeah, I guess that… makes sense.”  
“I’ll still see ye, Juicy. Every day, if I can.”  
  
The tears are gone now, the voice sounding like it’s usual stern and calm self. Juice closes his eyes and leans down, makes the Scot move up to reverse their positions again. Once he’s settled again with his head against Chibs’ chest, the emotional extertion takes it’s toll on Juice and he starts to drift off, no longer able to handle this while being awake. He needs to shut down before he once again looses himself in a mess of his own and others emotions, needs, wants, demands and wills and gets lost. The last thing he notices before sleep takes him, is the green rosary between Chibs’ fingers, slowly moving bead by bead, and the barely audible whispers:   
  
“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women…”


	112. Chapter 112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo, my lovelies! So happy and grateful for everyone following, commenting and encouraging me on this story. I've decided to, since this story somehow took over the reins from me and just escalated on it's own, split it into a series. 112 chapters are, small or not, enough I think for this part, since we've passed the gap from the club not knowing, to the club knowing and perhaps not exactly blessing, but (for most part) accepting that Juice is to be left alone and that Chibs can see him if he's discrete.
> 
> I will end this part with this chapter and hopefully start posting the second part "Reaper’s Harvest (The Unholy Book Of Ruth)" today. So it's really just splitting the same story in two to make it easier to read and things are supposed to happen a bit faster in part 2. I know the pace in this story can be a bit too slow sometimes and I hope to remedy that a bit.
> 
> Stay put, me loveys an' darlin' muppets, part 2 is on it's way <3

“Ye never asked.”  
“Asked what?”  
  
Tig takes a large bite of his BLT, taking the opportunity to give Mina a treat when Venus isn’t there to reprimind him and Chibs stares out in the air, scratching his beard.  
  
“Why him.”  
  
Tig just shrugs.  
  
“You never asked me either.”  
“This is different.”  
“How? ‘Cause he’s not wearing high heels? Which, by the way, he really shouldn’t. Too fucking clumsy, he’d look like a retard.”  
“Tig…”  
“What? I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”  
“Please stop trying.”  
“So ungrateful… Mina appreciates me. Don’t you, girl? Yeah, you do. Daddy’s beautiful girl…”  
  
Chibs rolls his eyes but Tig doesn’t give a shit. The man has a way of shrugging off other’s looks and opinions like they’re nothing more but the inevitable flies coming for salty sweat when parking your bike somewhere on the countryside a hot day.   
  
It may seem fucked up, but Tig really is the only one in the club who never seem to feel the least embarressed when it comes to be a bit soft. He would rock and sing Abel and Thomas to sleep openly in the garage or club house – something Jax never did – be late for chapel because he’d picked up some dog who looked lost, that he had to bring it to the nearest animal shelter. His lack of boundaries and unpredictability allowed that. No one fucked with Tig without suffering for it and it’s still that way. Some things never change.  
  
“What are they saying?”  
  
Tig shrugs.  
  
“Nothing in front of me. Not heard anything from Venus either. No gossip on the street.”  
“Good. And the boys?”  
“They’ll come around, even Ratboy. You came out in the right time.”  
_“Came out?”_  
  
The shit eating grin makes Tig look like a murderous shool boy the first day on summers break and he chuckles.  
  
“ _God_ , I love not being the only lunatic here.”  
“Ye think this is funny, huh?”  
“Oh yeah. It is, totally funny.”  
“Ye’re an arsehole. Ye think this is easy?”  
“You know the main reason I stayed loyal to Jax? Wasn’t because I liked him very much or even believed in his ideas. It was for the good of the club, but also for _her_. If I’d done anything to rock His Holy Fucking Highness’ boat, you think he’d been kind enough to not fuck things up for Venus? If he was still alive, you honestly think he’d let you see Juice or even give a fuck about the nay votes?”  
  
Chibs wants to tell him that no one _lets him_ see anyone, but stops himself. Had there not been a Mayhem vote on Jax, the man would’ve had Juice killed in one way or another, regardless of the club’s decision.  
  
“He’s in bad shape. Juice.”  
“Yeah, I figured as much.”  
“The priest has got a room for him, though.”  
“The priest?”  
“Aye, the priest, and please, no jokes.”  
“I thought you loved Catholic jokes.”  
  
Chibs just snorts and lights a fag. He’s really not in the mood for jokes now. Filip Telford doesn’t let his emotions rule him. He’s got his shit together, tends to his wounds in private and doesn’t put himself before the club. Ever.   
  
“He’s not himself…”  
“You really do love him…”  
“He’s…  what?”  
“You love him, pres. That’s why I don’t ask: _Why him?_ How he fuck would _you_ know, fucking _reason_ wanker? You can’t reason you way through this, Chibs. Believe me, I’ve tried. Can only accept it or walk away. There’s no middle ground on this one.”  
“What if Jax had made you choose?”  
  
It’s not a fair question to ask, but Tig doesn’t seem bothered. He scratches Mina’s head and there’s something disgustingly domestic about it, Chibs really can’t wrap his head around.  
  
“I would’ve put a bullet in his head, chopped him into stew beef and served him up for Thanksgiving.”  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tig…”  
“You asked, pres. Don’t blame me if you don’t like the answer. And you didn’t answer me, by the way.”  
“Wha’s there to say?”  
“How about a fucking yes or no, you idiot? Have I not proved to you, that I have your back?”  
“Aye, ye have.”  
  
The kitchen is, as always, spotless and Chibs thinks he and Tig both look very out of place there. Why Juice? Chibs has asked himself the same question for a while now without finding any answers apart from the mushy and pathetic ones.   
  
Like that he’s not felt whole since the day Juice left for Stockton. That it took weeks before he could even look at the empty seat at the table without feeling sick. Is there any point in trying to examine the fact that he never stops at the diner where he met Juice and Unser? That he’s avoiding to even pass it if he can choose another way, even if it’s detour?    
  
That he got a terrible migraine when words came from Stockton that Juice was still alive, shifting between relief and anger until he was sick from it? How the sight of Milkyway chocolate bars and cherry flavoured Dr. Pepper’s still makes a small tug in his stomach, because that’s what Juice used to snack on when he was a prospect and the scent of cherry and chocolate always went with him along with engine grease and toothpaste.   
  
Why him?   
  
“Who else…?”  
“Sorry, what?”  
“Ye asked why him. There’s yer answer. Who else?”  
  
Tig’s gaze isn’t incredulous, doesn’t look like something new has been revealed to him and he keeps scratching his beloved dog.  
  
“I trust you, Chibs, you know that. And I think you’re doing the right thing.”  
“Haven’t decided anythin’ yet.”  
“Oh, you have, pres. Trust me, you have.”


End file.
